I 


rut* 


VERANILDA 


THE    PRIVATE   PAPERS    OF 
HENRY   RYECROFT. 

By   GEORGE   GISSING. 
i2mo,  Cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.50  net. 

The  Times. — 'Mr.  Gissing  has  never  written 
anything  more  remarkable  ...  in  many  ways  it  is 
his  best  work  .  .  .  strikes  us  as  a  tour  deforce.' 

The  Daily  Telegraph.—'  Mr.  W.  L.  Courtney 
in  a  column  review  quotes  Mr.  Swinburne's  phrase 
as  being  the  best  description  possible  :  "  Oh,  golden 
book  of  spirit  and  of  sense." ' 

The  Daily  Chronicle.—'  The  sustained  excel- 
lence of  the  writing  in  this  volume  will  surprise 
even  his  admirers.  The  pages  that  describe  natural 
beauties  of  scene  or  of  season  are  the  finest  that 
have  been  written  lately  .  .  .  the  volume  is  a  great 
treat.  It  is  the  revelation  of  a  deeply  interesting  per- 
sonality, and  it  is  expressed  in  a  prose  of  admirable 
strength  and  beauty.' 

NEW  YORK :  E.  P.  BUTTON  AND  CO. 


VERANILDA 


A    ROMANCE 


AUTHOR  OF    'THE   PRIVATE   PAPERS  OF 
HENRY  RYECROFT,'   ETC. 


NEW    YORK 
E.  P.  DUTTON  AND  COMPANY 

1905 


Edinburgh :  T.  and  A.  CONSTABLE,  Printers  to  His  Majesty 


THIS  book  appears  under  circumstances  even  more 
pathetic  than  those  which  must  always  attend  a 
posthumous  work.  Not  only  was  the  writer  cut  off 
at  the  age  of  forty-six  before  this  romance  was  in  type, 
but  he  did  not  live  to  bring  it  quite  to  its  natural 
close.  It  is  printed  by  those  he  left  behind  him  from 
his  papers  in  the  state  in  which  they  were  found. 
There  were  no  adequate  materials  to  show  how  he 
had  designed  it  to  end.  And  it  was  out  of  the 
question  to  attempt  to  supply  what  he  was  not  per- 
mitted to  complete. 

Yet  it  is  not  in  any  sense  a  fragment ;  nor  is  it  at 
all  a  rough  preliminary  sketch.  It  is  finished  with 
that  spirit  of  loving  care  and  delicacy  of  touch 
which  George  Gissing  gave  to  his  best  work.  And 
the  two  or  three  missing  chapters  are  not  indispensable 
for  us  to  judge  the  piece  as  a  work  of  art.  It  is  not 
at  all  a  torso — a  trunk  without  limbs  or  head.  It  is 
a  finished  piece  of  sculpture,  from  which  some  portions 
have  been  broken  off  and  lost.  To  the  thoughtful 
reader  this  lacuna  will  but  add  to  the  pathos  and  the 
charm  of  this  singularly  original  book. 

Veranilda,  '  a  story  of  Roman  and  Goth,'  is  an  histori- 
cal romance  constructed  on  a  plan  most  unusual  in  the 
conventional  historical  novel.  It  deals  with  real  histori- 
cal personages  and  actual  historical  events  ;  and  it  is 
composed  after  long  and  minute  study  of  the  best  con- 
temporary sources  and  what  remains  of  the  literature  of 
the  time.  The  epoch  of  the  tale,  the  sixth  century,  the 
age  of  Justinian  and  Belisarius,  is  a  time  of  which  the 


vi  VERANILDA 

general  reader  knows  almost  nothing,  except  for  a  few 
crowded  pages  of  Gibbon,  and  indeed  very  few  scholars 
know  much  at  first  hand.  The  scene  is  Rome,  Central 
and  Southern  Italy,  a  country  which  was  carefully 
studied  by  the  author  in  his  Italian  travels.  The  period 
and  the  events  are  covered  by  the  fourth  volume  of 
Dr.  Hodgkin's  great  work,  Italy  and  her  Invaders,  to 
which  many  a  reader  of  Veranilda  will  be  glad  to  turn 
to  refresh  his  memory.  But  the  setting  of  the  tale 
itself  was  drawn,  not  from  any  modern  compilations, 
but  from  local  observation  of  the  scenes  depicted  in 
the  story  and  elaborate  study  of  the  extant  documents. 

Fascinated  as  I  have  always  been  myself  with  the 
history,  antiquities,  and  topography  of  Rome  and  its 
surroundings,  I  have  read  the  proofs  of  Veranilda  with 
keen  pleasure  ;  and  I  judge  it  to  be  far  the  most 
important  book  which  George  Gissing  ever  produced  : 
that  one  of  his  writings  which  will  have  the  most 
continuing  life.  It  is,  in  my  opinion,  composed  in  a 
new  vein  of  his  genius  :  with  a  wider  and  higher  scope, 
a  more  mellow  tone  than  the  studies  of  contemporary 
life  which  first  made  his  fame.  I  do  not  pretend  to 
have  read  all  of  these,  nor  indeed  did  I  always  feel  in 
touch  with  everything  of  his  that  I  did  read.  But  in 
Veranilda,  I  think,  his  poetical  gift  for  local  colour, 
his  subtle  insight  into  spiritual  mysticism,  and,  above 
all,  his  really  fine  scholarship  and  classical  learning, 
had  ample  field. 

If  I  was  invited  to  read  the  sheets  as  they  were 
printed  and  to  write  a  prefatory  note,  it  was  as  being 
one  who  had  known  the  whole  literary  career  of  George 
Gissing  from  the  first  to  the  last.  It  was  in  1880  (he 
was  then  but  twenty-two),  when  he  sent  me  his  first 
book  in  three  volumes  :  a  book  that  very  few  have  ever 
seen  and  which  he  subsequently  declined  to  claim. 
Crude  as  it  was,  I  recognisedhis  power  and  did  what  I 
could  to  help  him  with  work  and  introductions.  Mr.  John 
Morley,  then  editor  ofthcPaltllfaltGa&tte,  was  willing 
to  employ  his  pen.  Gissing,  however,  though  sorely 


VERANILDA  vii 

pressed  at  the  time,  resolutely  declined  to  engage  in 
any  miscellaneous  work  of  journalism  or  criticism,  but 
devoted  himself  with  fervour  and  self-reliance  to 
imaginative  composition.  A  really  brilliant  scholar, 
and  a  writer  of  most  graceful  verse,  for  many  years  he 
accepted  day  pupils  preparing  for  school,  whilst  he 
laboured  at  night  at  his  ideal  creations. 

This  is  not  the  place  to  offer  any  appreciation  of  his 
success,  nor  can  I  pretend  to  undertake  such  a  task. 
It  is  not  the  place,  nor  is  it  yet  the  time,  to  make 
any  record  of  his  career : — of  his  sorrows,  his  suffer- 
ings, his  dreams,  and  his  hopes.  I  will  add  only  that 
I  think  these  pages  contain  his  best  and  most  original 
work. 

FREDERIC  HARRISON. 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  "GB 

I.  THE  VANQUISHED  ROMAN                     .              .              •  I 

II.  BASIL'S  VISION                .              .              .              «              •  II 

III.  THE  DEACON  LEANDER           ....  22 

IV.  TO  CUMAE         ......  34 

V.  BASIL  AND  VERANILDA           .              .              .              •  49 

VI.  THE  EMPEROR'S  COMMAND    .  .  .  .63 

VII.  HERESY  ......          72 

VIII.  THE  SNARE       ......          84 

IX.  CHORSOMAN      ......          93 

X.  THE  ANICIANS  .  .  •  .        IO6 

XI.  SEEKING  .  .  .  .  .  .118 

XII.  1 1  ELI  ODOR  A       .  .  .  .  .  .133 

XIII.  THE  SOUL  OF  ROME    .  .  .  .  .148 

XIV.  SILVIA'S  DREAM  .  .  .  .  .        l6l 
XV.  YOUNG  ROME    .              .              .              .              .              .173 

XVI.  WHISPERS  .  .  .  .  .  .182 

XVII.  LEANDER  THE  POLITIC  .  .  .  .192 

XVIII.  PELAGIUS  .  .  .  .  .  .201 

XIX.  THE  PRISONER  OF  PRAENESTE  .  .  2IO 

XX.  THE  ISLAND  IN  THE  LIRIS     ....       224 

XXI.  THE  BETRAYER  BETRAYED     ,  .  .  .240 


x  VERANILDA 

CHAP.  PAGE 

XXII.  DOOM.  ......        255 

XXIII.  THE  RED  HAND          .  .  .  .  .264 

XXIV.  THE  MOUNT  OF  THE  MONK  .  .  .275 

xxv.  THE  ABBOT'S  TOWER  ....      288 

XXVI.  VIVAS  IN  DEO  .  .  .  .  .298 

XXVII.  THE  KING  OF  THE  GOTHS  ....        307 

xxvin.  AT  HADRIAN'S  VILLA          ....      319 

XXIX.   ROME  BELEAGUERED  ....       334 

xxx.  *    *    *    *    .          .          .          .          .          .340 


VERANILDA 

CHAPTER   I 

THE  VANQUISHED  ROMAN 

SEVEN  years  long  had  the  armies  of  Justinian  warred  against 
the  Goths  in  Italy.  Victor  from  Rhegium  to  Ravenna,  the 
great  commander  Belisarius  had  returned  to  the  East,  carry- 
ing captive  a  Gothic  king.  The  cities  of  the  conquered  land 
were  garrisoned  by  barbarians  of  many  tongues,  who  bore 
the  name  of  Roman  soldiers ;  the  Italian  people,  brought 
low  by  slaughter,  dearth,  and  plague,  crouched  under  the 
rapacious  tyranny  of  governors  from  Byzantium. 

Though  children  born  when  King  Theodoric  still  reigned 
had  yet  scarce  grown  to  manhood,  that  golden  age  seemed 
already  a  legend  of  the  past.  Athalaric,  Amalasuntha, 
Theodahad,  last  of  the  Amal  blood,  had  held  the  throne  in 
brief  succession  and  were  gone ;  warriors  chosen  at  will  by 
the  Gothic  host,  mere  kings  of  the  battlefield,  had  risen  and 
perished;  reduced  to  a  wandering  tribe,  the  nation  which 
alone  of  her  invaders  had  given  peace  and  hope  to  Italy, 
which  alone  had  reverenced  and  upheld  the  laws,  polity, 
culture  of  Rome,  would  soon,  it  was  thought,  be  utterly 
destroyed,  or  vanish  in  flight  beyond  the  Alps.  Yet  war  did 
not  come  to  an  end.  In  the  plain  of  the  great  river  there 
was  once  more  a  chieftain  whom  the  Goths  had  raised  upon 
their  shields,  a  king,  men  said,  glorious  in  youth  and  strength, 
and  able,  even  yet,  to  worst  the  Emperor's  generals.  His 
fame  increased.  Ere  long  he  was  known  to  be  moving 


2  VERANILDA 

southward,  to  have  crossed  the  Apennines,  to  have  won  a 
battle  in  Etruria.  The  name  of  this  young  hero  was  Totila. 

In  these  days  the  senators  of  Rome,  heirs  to  a  title  whose 
ancient  power  and  dignity  were  half-forgotten,  abode  within 
the  city,  under  constraint  disguised  as  honour,  the  con- 
queror's hostages.  One  among  them,  of  noblest  name,  Flavius 
Anicius  Maximus,  broken  in  health  by  the  troubles  of  the 
time  and  by  private  sorrow,  languishing  all  but  unto  death 
in  the  heavy  air  of  the  Tiber,  was  permitted  to  seek  relief  in 
a  visit  to  which  he  would  of  his  domains  in  Italy.  His 
birth,  his  repute,  gave  warrant  of  loyalty  to  the  empire,  and 
his  coffers  furnished  the  price  put  upon  such  a  favour  by 
Byzantine  greed.  Maximus  chose  for  refuge  his  villa  by 
the  Campanian  shore,  vast,  beautiful,  half  in  ruin,  which  had 
been  enjoyed  by  generations  of  the  Anician  family ;  situated 
above  the  little  town  of  Surrentum  it  caught  the  cooler 
breeze,  and  on  its  mountainous  promontory  lay  apart  from 
the  tramp  of  armies.  Here,  as  summer  burned  into  autumn, 
the  sick  man  lived  in  brooding  silence,  feeling  his  strength 
waste,  and  holding  to  the  world  only  by  one  desire. 

The  household  comprised  his  unwedded  sister  Petronilla, 
a  lady  in  middle  age,  his  nephew  Basil,  and  another  kinsman, 
Decius,  a  student  and  an  invalid  ;  together  with  a  physician, 
certain  freedmen  who  rendered  services  of  trust,  a  eunuch 
at  the  command  of  Petronilla,  and  the  usual  body  of  male 
and  female  slaves.  Some  score  of  glebe-bound  peasants  cul- 
tivated the  large  estate  for  their  lord's  behoof.  Notwith- 
standing the  distress  that  had  fallen  upon  the  Roman 
nobility,  many  of  whom  were  sunk  into  indigence,  the  chief 
of  the  Anicii  still  controlled  large  means  ;  and  the  disposal  of 
these  possessions  at  his  death  was  matter  of  interest  to  many 
persons — not  least  to  the  clergy  of  Rome,  who  found  in  the 
dying  man's  sister  a  piously  tenacious  advocate.  Children 
had  been  born  to  Maximus,  but  the  only  son  who  reached 
mature  years  fell  a  victim  to  pestilence  when  Vitiges  was 
camped  about  the  city.  There  survived  one  daughter, 
Aurelia.  Her  the  father  had  not  seen  for  years;  her  he 


THE  VANQUISHED   ROMAN         3 

longed  to  see  and  to  pardon  ere  he  died.  For  Aurelia, 
widowed  of  her  first  husband  in  early  youth,  had  used  her 
liberty  to  love  and  wed  a  flaxen-haired  barbarian,  a  lord  of 
the  Goths ;  and,  worse  still,  had  renounced  the  Catholic 
faith  for  the  religion  of  the  Gothic  people,  that  heresy  of 
Arianism  condemned  and  abhorred  by  Rome.  In  conse- 
quence she  became  an  outcast  from  her  kith  and  kin.  Her 
husband  commanded  in  the  city  of  Cumae,  hard  by  Neapolis. 
When  this  stronghold  fell  before  the  advance  of  Belisarius, 
the  Goth  escaped,  soon  after  to  die  in  battle;  Aurelia,  a 
captive  of  the  conquerors,  remained  at  Cumae,  and  still  was 
living  there,  though  no  longer  under  restraint.  Because  of 
its  strength,  this  ancient  city  became  the  retreat  of  many 
ladies  who  fled  from  Rome  before  the  hardships  and  perils 
of  the  siege ;  from  them  the  proud  and  unhappy  woman  ever 
held  apart,  yet  she  refused  to  quit  the  town  when  she  would 
have  been  permitted  to  do  so.  From  his  terrace  above  the 
Surrentine  shore,  Maximus  gazed  across  the  broad  gulf  to  the 
hills  that  concealed  Cumae,  yearning  for  the  last  of  his 
children.  When  at  length  he  wrote  her  a  letter,  a  letter  of 
sad  kindness,  inviting  rather  than  beseeching  her  to  visit 
him,  Aurelia  made  no  reply.  Wounded,  he  sunk  again  into 
silence,  until  his  heart  could  no  longer  bear  its  secret  burden, 
and  he  spoke — not  to  Petronilla,  from  whose  austere  ortho- 
doxy little  sympathy  was  to  be  expected — but  to  his  nephew 
Basil,  whose  generous  mettle  willingly  lent  itself  to  such  a 
service  as  was  proposed.  On  his  delicate  mission,  the  young 
man  set  forth  without  delay.  To  Cumae,  whether  by  sea  or 
land,  was  but  a  short  journey :  starting  at  daybreak,  Basil 
might  have  given  ample  time  to  his  embassy,  and  have 
been  back  again  early  on  the  morrow.  But  the  second  day 
passed,  and  he  did  not  return.  Though  harassed  by  the 
delay,  Maximus  tried  to  deem  it  of  good  omen,  and  nursed 
his  hope  through  another  sleepless  night. 

Soon  after  sunrise,  he  was  carried  forth  to  his  place  of 
observation,  a  portico  in  semicircle,  the  marble  honey-toned 
by  time,  which  afforded  shelter  from  the  eastern  rays  and 


4  VERANILDA 

commanded  a  view  of  vast  extent.  Below  him  lay  the  little 
town,  built  on  the  cliffs  above  its  landing-place ;  the  hill- 
sides on  either  hand  were  clad  with  vineyards,  splendid 
in  the  purple  of  autumn,  and  with  olives.  Sky  and  sea 
shone  to  each  other  in  perfect  calm ;  the  softly  breathing 
air  mingled  its  morning  freshness  with  a  scent  of  fallen 
flower  and  leaf.  A  rosy  vapour  from  Vesuvius  floated  gently 
inland ;  and  this  the  eye  of  Maximus  marked  with  content- 
ment, as  it  signified  a  favourable  wind  for  a  boat  crossing 
hither  from  the  far  side  of  the  bay.  For  the  loveliness  of  the 
scene  before  him,  its  noble  lines,  its  jewelled  colouring,  he 
had  little  care ;  but  the  infinite  sadness  of  its  suggestion,  the 
decay  and  the  desolation  uttered  by  all  he  saw,  sank  deep 
into  his  heart.  If  his  look  turned  to  the  gleaming  spot  which 
was  the  city  of  Neapolis,  there  came  into  his  mind  the  sack 
and  massacre  of  a  few  years  ago,  when  Belisarius  so  terribly 
avenged  upon  the  Neapolitans  their  stubborn  resistance  to 
his  siege.  Faithful  to  the  traditions  of  his  house,  of  his 
order,  Maximus  had  welcomed  the  invasion  which  promised 
to  restore  Italy  to  the  Empire ;  now  that  the  restoration  was 
effected,  he  saw  with  bitterness  the  evils  resulting  from  it, 
and  all  but  hoped  that  this  new  king  of  the  Goths,  this 
fortune-favoured  Totila,  might  sweep  the  land  of  its  Greek 
oppressors.  He  looked  back  upon  his  own  life,  on  the 
placid  dignity  of  his  career  under  the  rule  of  Theodoric,  the 
offices  by  which  he  had  risen,  until  he  sat  in  the  chair  of  the 
Consul.  Yet  in  that  time,  which  now  seemed  so  full  of 
peaceful  glories,  he  had  never  at  heart  been  loyal  to  the  great 
king ;  in  his  view,  as  in  that  of  the  nobles  generally,  Theo- 
doric was  but  a  usurper,  who  had  abused  the  mandate 
intrusted  to  him  by  the  Emperor  Zeno,  to  deliver  Italy  from 
the  barbarians.  When  his  own  kinsmen,  Boethius  and  Sym 
machus,  were  put  to  death  on  a  charge  of  treachery,  Maximus 
burned  with  hatred  of  the  Goth.  He  regarded  with  disdain 
the  principles  of  Cassiodorus,  who  devoted  his  life  to  the 
Gothic  cause,  and  who  held  that  only  as  an  independent 
kingdom  could  there  be  hope  for  Italy.  Having  for  a 


THE  VANQUISHED  ROMAN         5 

moment  the  ear  of  Theodoric's  daughter,  Amalasuntha,  when 
she  ruled  for  her  son,  Maximus  urged  her  to  yield  her 
kingdom  to  the  Emperor,  and  all  but  saw  his  counsel  acted 
upon.  After  all,  was  not  Cassiodorus  right  ?  Were  not  the 
senators  who  had  ceaselessly  intrigued  with  Byzantium  in 
truth  traitors  to  Rome?  It  was  a  bitter  thought  for  the 
dying  man  that  all  his  life  he  had  not  only  failed  in  service 
to  his  country,  but  had  obstinately  wrought  for  her  ruin. 

Attendants  placed  food  beside  him.  He  mingled  wine 
with  water  and  soothed  a  feverish  thirst.  His  physician,  an 
elderly  man  of  Oriental  visage,  moved  respectfully  to  his 
side,  greeted  him  as  Illustrious,  inquired  how  his  Magnificence 
had  passed  the  latter  part  of  the  night.  Whilst  replying,  as 
ever  courteously — for  in  the  look  and  bearing  of  Maximus 
there  was  that  senatorius  decor  which  Pliny  noted  in  a  great 
Roman  of  another  time — his  straining  eyes  seemed  to  descry 
a  sail  in  the  quarter  he  continually  watched.  Was  it  only  a 
fishing  boat  ?  Raised  upon  the  couch,  he  gazed  long  and 
fixedly.  Impossible  as  yet  to  be  sure  whether  he  saw  the 
expected  bark ;  but  the  sail  seemed  to  draw  nearer,  and  he 
watched. 

The  voice  of  a  servant,  who  stood  at  a  respectful  distance, 
announced:  '  The  gracious  Lady ' ;  and  there  appeared  a  little 
procession.  Ushered  by  her  eunuch,  and  attended  by  half 
a  dozen  maidens,  one  of  whom  held  over  her  a  silk  sunshade 
with  a  handle  of  gold,  the  sister  of  Maximus  approached  at  a 
stately  pace.  She  was  tall,  and  of  features  severely  regular  ; 
her  dark  hair — richer  in  tone  and  more  abundant  than  her 
years  could  warrant — rose  in  elaborate  braiding  intermingled 
with  golden  threads ;  her  waistless  robe  was  of  white  silk 
adorned  with  narrow  stripes  of  purple,  which  descended,  two 
on  each  side,  from  the  shoulders  to  the  hem,  and  about  her 
neck  lay  a  shawl  of  delicate  tissue.  In  her  hand,  which 
glistened  with  many  gems,  she  carried  a  small  volume,  richly 
bound,  the  Psalter.  Courtesies  of  the  gravest  passed  between 
her  and  Maximus,  who,  though  he  could  not  rise  from  his 
couch,  assumed  an  attitude  of  graceful  deference,  and  Petron- 


6  VERANILDA 

ilia  seated  herself  in  a  chair  which  a  slave  had  placed  for  her. 
After  many  inquiries  as  to  her  brother's  health,  the  lady 
allowed  her  eyes  to  wander  for  a  moment,  then  spoke  with 
the  smile  of  one  who  imparts  rare  tidings. 

1  Late  last  night — too  late  to  trouble  you  with  the  news — 
there  came  a  post  from  the  reverend  deacon  Leander.  He 
disembarked  yesterday  at  Salernum,  and,  after  brief  repose, 
hopes  to  visit  us.  Your  Amiability  will,  I  am  sure,  welcome 
his  coming.' 

'  Assuredly,'  answered  Maximus,  bending  his  head,  whilst 
his  eyes  watched  the  distant  sail.  '  Whence  comes  he  ? ' 

1  From  Sicily.  We  shall  learn,  I  dare  say,  the  business  which 
took  him  there,'  added  Petronilla,  with  a  self-satisfied  soften- 
ing of  her  lips.  '  The  deacon  is  wont  to  talk  freely  with  me 
of  whatever  concerns  the  interests  of  our  holy  Church,  even, 
as  I  think  you  remember,  has  now  and  then  deigned — though 
I  know  not  how  I  have  deserved  such  honour — to  ask,  I 
dare  not  say  my  counsel,  but  my  humble  thoughts  on  this  or 
that.  I  think  we  may  expect  him  before  morning.  The  day 
will  not  be  too  warm  for  travel.' 

Maximus  wore  an  anxious  look,  and  spoke  after  hesitation. 

'Will  his  reverend  leisure  permit  him  to  pass  more  than 
one  day  with  us  ? ' 

'  Earnestly  I  hope  so.  You,  beyond  doubt,  dear  lord,  my 
brother,  will  desire  long  privacy  with  the  holy  man.  His 
coming  at  this  time  is  plainly  of  Heaven's  direction.' 

'Lady  sister,' answered  Maximus,  with  the  faintest  smile 
on  his  sad  features,  '  I  would  not  willingly  rob  you  of  a 
moment's  conference  with  the  good  deacon.  My  own 
business  with  him  is  soon  despatched.  I  would  fain  be 
assured  of  burial  in  the  Temple  of  Probus  where  sleep  our 
ancestors.' 

'  Of  that,'  replied  Petronilla,  solemnly  and  not  unkindly, 
'  doubt  not  for  a  moment.  Your  body  shall  lie  there,  by  the 
blessed  Peter's  sanctuary,  and  your  tomb  be  honoured  among 
those  of  the  greatest  of  our  blood.  But  there  is  another 
honour  that  I  covet  for  you,  an  honour  above  all  that  the 


THE   VANQUISHED  ROMAN         7 

world  can  bestow.  In  these  sad  times,  Maximus,  the  Church 
has  need  of  strengthening.  You  have  no  children ' 

A  glance  from  the  listener  checked  her,  and,  before  she 
could  resume,  Maximus  interposed  in  a  low  voice : 

'  I  have  yet  a  daughter.' 

'A  daughter?'  exclaimed  Petronilla,  troubled,  confused, 
scarce  subduing  indignation. 

1  It  is  better  I  should  tell  you,' continued  her  brother,  with 
some  sternness,  resulting  from  the  efforts  to  command  him- 
self, 'that  Basil  is  gone  to  Cumae  to  see  Aurelia,  and,  if  it 
may  be,  to  lead  her  to  me.  Perhaps  even  now  ' — he  pointed 
to  the  sea — '  they  are  on  the  way  hither.  Let  us  not  speak 
of  it,  Petronilla,'  he  added  in  a  firmer  tone.  '  It  is  my  will ; 
that  must  suffice.  Of  you  I  ask  nothing  save  silence.' 

The  lady  arose.  Her  countenance  expressed  angry  and 
bitter  feeling,  but  there  was  no  danger  of  her  uttering  what 
she  thought.  Gravely,  somewhat  coldly,  she  spoke  good 
wishes  for  her  brother's  ease  during  the  day,  and  so  retired 
with  her  retinue.  Alone,  Maximus  sighed,  and  looked  again 
across  the  waters. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  servant  who  guarded  his  privacy  was 
again  heard  announcing  the  lord  Decius.  The  Senator 
turned  his  eyes  with  a  look  of  good-humoured  greeting. 

'Abroad  so  early,  good  cousin  ?  Did  the  oil  fail  you  last 
night  and  send  you  too  soon  to  bed  ? ' 

'You  have  not  chanced  to  remember,  dear  my  lord,  what 
day  it  is?'  returned  Decius,  when  he  had  bestowed  a  kiss  on 
his  kinsman's  cheek.  'Had  I  but  vigour  enough,  this  morn- 
ing would  have  seen  me  on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  tomb.'  He 
put  out  a  hand  towards  Neapolis.  'I  rose  at  daybieak  to 
meditate  the  Fourth  Eclogue.' 

'The  ides  of  October — true.  I  take  shame  to  myself  for 
having  lost  the  memory  of  Virgil  in  my  own  distresses.' 

Decius,  whose  years  were  scarce  thirty,  had  the  aspect 
and  the  gait  of  an  elderly  man ;  his  thin  hair  streaked  with 
grey,  his  cheeks  hollow,  his  eyes  heavy,  he  stooped  in  walking 
and  breathed  with  difficulty ;  the  tunic  and  the  light  cloak, 


8  VERANILDA 

which  were  all  his  attire,  manifested  an  infinite  carelessness  in 
matters  of  costume,  being  worn  and  soiled.  Than  he,  no 
Roman  was  poorer ;  he  owned  nothing  but  his  clothing  and  a 
few  books.  Akin  to  the  greatest,  and  bearing  a  name  of  which 
he  was  inordinately  proud — as  a  schoolboy  he  had  once  burst 
into  tears  when  reciting  with  passion  the  Lay  of  the  Decii — 
he  felt  content  to  owe  his  sustenance  to  the  delicate  and 
respectful  kindness  of  Maximus,  who  sympathised  with  the 
great  wrong  he  had  suffered  early  in  life.  This  was  no  less 
than  wilful  impoverishment  by  his  father,  who,  seeking  to 
atone  for  sins  by  fanaticism,  had  sold  the  little  he  possessed 
to  found  a  pilgrims'  hospice  at  Portus,  whither,  accompanied 
by  the  twelve-year-old  boy,  he  went  to  live  as  monk-servitor. 
In  a  year  or  two  the  penitent  died ;  Decius,  in  revolt  against 
the  tasks  to  which  he  was  subjected,  managed  to  escape, 
made  his  way  to  Rome,  and  appealed  to  Maximus.  Nomin- 
ally he  still  held  the  post  of  secretary  to  his  benefactor,  but 
for  many  years  he  had  enjoyed  entire  leisure,  all  of  it  devoted 
to  study.  Several  times  illness  had  brought  him  to  the 
threshold  of  death,  yet  it  had  never  conquered  his  love  of 
letters,  his  enthusiasm  for  his  country's  past.  Few  liked  him ; 
only  one  or  two  understood  him :  Decius  was  content  that  it 
should  be  so. 

'  Let  us  speak  of  it,'  he  continued,  unrolling  a  manuscript 
of  Virgil  some  two  hundred  years  old,  a  gift  to  him  from 
Maximus.  'Tell  me,  dear  lord,  your  true  thought:  is  it 
indeed  a  prophecy  of  the  Divine  Birth?  To  you' — he 
smiled  his  gentle,  beautiful  smile — 'may  I  not  confess  that  I 
have  doubted  this  interpretation  ?  Yet ' — he  cast  his  eyes 
down — 'the  doubt  is  perhaps  a  prompting  of  the  spirit  of 
evil.' 

'  I  know  not,  Decius,  I  know  not,'  replied  the  sick  man, 
with  thoughtful  melancholy.  '  My  father  held  it  a  prophecy, 
his  father  before  him. — But  forgive  me,  I  am  expecting 
anxiously  the  return  of  Basil;  yonder  sail — is  it  his?  Your 
eyes  see  further  than  mine.' 

Decius  at  once  put  aside  his  own  reflections,  and  watched 


THE  VANQUISHED   ROMAN         9 

the  oncoming  bark.  Before  long  there  was  an  end  of  doubt. 
Rising  in  agitation  to  his  feet,  Maximus  gave  orders  that  the 
litter,  which  since  yesterday  morning  had  been  in  readiness, 
should  at  once  be  borne  with  all  speed  down  to  the  landing- 
place.  Sail  and  oars  soon  brought  the  boat  so  near  that 
Decius  was  able  to  descry  certain  female  figures  and  that  of 
a  man,  doubtless  Basil,  who  stood  up  and  waved  his  arms 
shoreward. 

'She  has  come,'  broke  from  Maximus;  and,  in  reply  to 
his  kinsman's  face  of  inquiry,  he  told  of  whom  it  was  he 
spoke. 

The  landing-place  was  not  visible  from  here.  As  soon  as 
the  boat  disappeared  beneath  the  buildings  of  the  town, 
Maximus  requested  of  his  companion  a  service  which  asked 
some  courage  in  the  performance  :  it  was,  to  wait  forthwith 
upon  the  Lady  Petronilla,  to  inform  her  that  Aurelia  had  just 
disembarked,  to  require  that  three  female  slaves  should  be 
selected  to  attend  upon  the  visitor.  This  mission  Decius 
discharged,  not  without  trembling;  he  then  walked  to  the 
main  entrance  of  the  villa,  and  stood  there,  the  roll  of  Virgil 
still  in  his  hand,  until  the  sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs  on  the 
upward  road  announced  the  arrival  of  the  travellers.  The 
horseman,  who  came  some  yards  in  advance  of  the  slave- 
borne  litter,  was  Basil.  At  sight  of  Decius,  he  dismounted, 
and  asked  in  an  undertone :  '  You  know  ? '  The  other  replied 
with  the  instructions  given  by  Maximus,  that  the  litter,  which 
was  closed  against  curious  eyes,  should  be  straightway  con- 
veyed to  the  Senator's  presence,  Basil  himself  to  hold  apart 
until  summoned. 

And  so  it  was  done.  Having  deposited  their  burden  be- 
tween two  columns  of  the  portico,  the  bearers  withdrew.  The 
father's  voice  uttered  the  name  of  Aurelia,  and,  putting  aside 
the  curtains  that  had  concealed  her,  she  stood  before  him. 
A  woman  still  young,  and  of  bearing  which  became  her  birth; 
a  woman  who  would  have  had  much  grace,  much  charm,  but 
for  the  passion  which,  turned  to  vehement  self-will,  had 
made  her  blood  acrid.  Her  great  dark  eyes  burned  with 


10  VERANILDA 

quenchless  resentment ;  her  sunken  and  pallid  face  told  of 
the  sufferings  of  a  tortured  pride. 

'Lord  Maximus,'  were  her  first  words,  as  she  stood  holding 
by  the  litter,  glancing  distrustfully  about  her,  'you  have 
sworn  ! ' 

'  Hear  me  repeat  my  oath,'  answered  the  father,  strength- 
ened by.  his  emotion  to  move  forward  from  the  couch.  '  By 
the  blessed  martyr  Pancratius,  I  swear  that  no  harm  shall 
befall  you,  no  constraint  shall  be  put  upon  you,  that  you  shall 
be  free  to  come  and  to  go  as  you  will.' 

It  was  the  oath  no  perjurer  durst  make.  Aurelia  gazed 
into  her  father's  face,  which  was  wet  with  tears.  She  stepped 
nearer  to  him,  took  his  thin,  hot  hand,  and,  as  in  her  child- 
hood, bent  to  kiss  the  back  of  the  wrist.  But  Maximus 
folded  her  to  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  II 

BASIL'S  VISION 

BASIL  and  Decius  paced  together  a  garden  alley,  between  a 
row  of  quince-trees  and  a  hedge  of  Christ's-thorn ;  at  one 
end  was  a  fountain  in  a  great  basin  of  porphyry,  at  the  other 
a  little  temple,  very  old  and  built  for  the  worship  of  Isis, 
now  an  oratory  under  the  invocation  of  the  Blessed  Mary. 
The  two  young  men  made  a  singular  contrast,  for  Basil,  who 
was  in  his  twenty-third  year,  had  all  the  traits  of  health  and 
vigour :  a  straight  back,  lithe  limbs,  a  face  looking  level  on 
the  world,  a  lustrous  eye  often  touched  to  ardour,  a  cheek 
of  the  purest  carnation,  a  mouth  that  told  of  fine  instincts, 
delicate  sensibilities,  love  of  laughter.  No  less  did  his 
costume  differ  from  the  student's  huddled  garb;  his  tunic 
was  finely  embroidered  in  many  hues,  his  silken  cloak  had  a 
great  buckle  of  gold  on  the  shoulder;  he  wore  ornate  shoes, 
and  by  his  waist  hung  a  silver-handled  dagger  in  a  sheath  of 
chased  bronze.  He  stepped  lightly,  as  one  who  asks  but  the 
occasion  to  run  and  leap.  In  their  intimate  talk,  he  threw 
an  arm  over  his  companion's  neck,  a  movement  graceful  as  it 
was  affectionate ;  his  voice  had  a  note  frank  and  cordial. 

Yet  Basil  was  not  quite  his  familiar  self  to-day ;  he  talked 
with  less  than  his  natural  gaiety,  wore  a  musing  look,  fell  into 
silences.  Now  that  Aurelia  had  come,  there  was  no  motive 
for  reserve  on  that  subject  with  Decius,  and  indeed  they 
conversed  of  their  kinswoman  with  perfect  openress,  pitying 
rather  than  condemning  her,  and  wondering  what  would 
result  from  her  presence  under  one  roof  with  the  rigid 
Petronilla.  Not  on  Aurelia's  account  did  Basil  droop  his 

11 


12  VERANILDA 

head  now  and  then,  look  about  him  vacantly,  bite  his  lip, 
answer  a  question  at  hazard,  play  nervously  with  his  dagger's 
hilt.  All  at  once,  with  an  abruptness  which  moved  his 
companion's  surprise,  he  made  an  inquiry,  seemingly  little 
relevant  to  their  topic. 

'Heard  you  ever  of  a  Gothic  princess^-a  lady  of  the 
lineage  of  Theodoric — still  living  in  Italy?' 

'  Never,'  responded  Decius,  with  a  puzzled  smile.  '  Is 
there  such  a  one  ?  ' 

'I  am  told  so — I  heard  it  by  chance.  Yet  I  know  not 
who  she  can  be.  Did  not  the  direct  line  of  Theodoric  end 
with  Athalaric  and  his  sister  Matasuntha,  who  is  now  at  the 
Emperor's  court  ? ' 

'So  I  believed,'  said  Decius,  'though  I  have  thought  but 
little  of  the  matter.' 

'  I  too,  trust  me,'  let  fall  Basil,  with  careful  carelessness ; 
no  actor  he.  '  And  the  vile  Theodahad — what  descendants 
did  he  leave  ? ' 

'He  was  a  scholar,'  said  the  other  musingly,  'deep  read 
in  Plato.' 

'None  the  less  a  glutton  and  a  murderer  and  a  coward, 
who  did  well  to  give  his  throat  to  the  butcher  as  he  ran  away 
from  his  enemies.  Children  he  had,  I  think — but ' 

Basil  broke  off  on  a  wandering  thought.  He  stood  still, 
knitted  his  brows,  and  sniffed  the  air.  At  this  moment  there 
appeared  in  the  alley  a  serving  man,  a  young  and  active  fellow 
of  very  honest  visage,  who  stood  at  some  yards'  distance  until 
Basil  observed  him. 

'  What  is  it,  Felix  ? '  inquired  his  master. 

The  attendant  stepped  forward,  and  made  known  that  the 
lord  Marcian  had  even  now  ridden  up  to  the  villa,  with  two 
followers,  and  desired  to  wait  upon  Basil.  This  news 
brought  a  joyful  light  to  the  eyes  of  the  young  noble;  he 
hastened  to  welcome  his  friend,  the  dearest  he  had.  Marcian, 
a  year  or  two  his  elder,  was  less  favoured  by  nature  in  face 
and  form :  tall  and  vigorous  enough  of  carriage,  he  showed 
more  bone  and  sinew  than  flesh;  and  his  face  might  have 


BASIL'S  VISION  13 

been  that  of  a  man  worn  by  much  fasting,  so  deep  sunk  were 
the  eyes,  so  jutting  the  cheek-bones,  and  so  sharp  the  chin ; 
its  cast,  too,  was  that  of  a  fixed  and  native  melancholy.  But 
when  he  smiled,  these  features  became  much  more  pleasing, 
and  revealed  a  kindliness  of  temper  such  as  might  win  the 
love  of  one  who  knew  him  well.  His  dress  was  plain,  and 
the  dust  of  Campanian  roads  lay  somewhat  thick  upon 
him. 

'  By  Bacchus ! '  cried  his  friend,  as  they  embraced  each 
other,  'fortune  is  good  to  me  to-day.  Could  I  have  had  but 
one  wish  granted,  it  would  have  been  to  see  Marcian.  I 
thought  you  still  in  Rome.  What  makes  you  travel  ?  Not 
in  these  days  solely  to  visit  a  friend,  I  warrant.  By  Peter 
and  Paul  and  as  many  more  saints  as  you  can  remember,  I 
am  glad  to  hold  your  hand  !  What  news  do  you  bring  ? ' 

c  Little  enough,'  answered  Marcian,  with  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders.  The  natural  tune  of  his  voice  harmonised  with 
his  visage,  and  he  spoke  as  one  who  feels  a  scornful  im- 
patience with  the  affairs  of  men.  'At  Rome,  they  wrangle 
about  goats'  wool,  as  is  their  wont.  Anything  else  ?  Why, 
yes;  the  freedman  Chrysanthus  glories  in  an  ex-consulate. 
It  cost  him  the  trifle  of  thirty  pounds  of  gold.' 

Basil  laughed  contemptuously,  half  angrily. 

'  We  must  look  to  our  honours,'  he  exclaimed.  '  If  Chrys- 
anthus be  ex-consul,  can  you  and  I  be  satisfied  with  less 
than  ex-Praetorian-Prefect?  What  will  be  the  price,  think 
you  ?  Has  Bessas  hung  out  a  tariff  yet  in  the  Forum  ? ' 

'He  knows  better  than  to  fix  a  maximum,  as  long  as  a 
wealthy  fool  remains  in  the  city — though  that  won't  be  much 
longer,  I  take  it.' 

'  Why  come  you  hither,  dear  my  lord  ? '  urged  Basil,  with 
more  seriousness. 

Regarding  him  with  a  grave  eye,  his  friend  replied  in  an 
undertone : 

'  To  spy  upon  you.' 

'Ha!— In  very  truth?' 

'  You  could  wish  me  a  more  honourable  office,'  Marcian 


14  VERANILDA 

went  on,  smiling  sadly.  'Yet,  if  you  think  of  it,  in  these 
days,  it  is  some  honour  to  be  a  traitor  to  both  sides.  There 
has  been  talk  of  you  in  Rome.  Nay,  who  knows  how  or 
why !  They  have  nothing  to  do  but  talk,  and  these  victories 
of  the  Goth  have  set  up  such  a  Greek  cackle  as  was  never 
heard  since  Helen  ran  away  to  Troy, — and,  talking  of  Greek, 
I  bear  a  letter  for  you  from  Heliodora.' 

Basil,  who  had  been  listening  gravely,  started  at  this  name 
and  uttered  an  idle  laugh.  From  a  wallet  hanging  at  his 
girdle,  Marcian  drew  forth  the  missive. 

'That  may  wait,'  said  Basil,  glancing  indifferently  at  the 
folded  and  sealed  paper  before  he  hid  it  away.  '  Having  said 
so  much,  you  must  tell  me  more.  Put  off  that  sardonic  mask 
— I  know  very  well  what  hides  beneath  it — and  look  me  in 
the  eye.  You  have  surprised  some  danger?' 

'I  heard  you  spoken  of — by  one  who  seldom  opens  his 
lips  but  to  ill  purpose.  It  was  not  difficult  for  me  to  wade 
through  the  shallows  of  the  man's  mind,  and  for  my  friend's 
sake  to  win  his  base  confidence.  Needing  a  spy,  and  being 
himself  a  born  traitor,  he  readily  believed  me  at  his  beck ;  in 
truth  he  had  long  marked  me,  so  I  found,  for  a  cankered 
soul  who  waited  but  the  occasion  to  advance  by  infamy. 
I  held  the  creature  in  my  hand;  I  turned  him  over  and  over, 
and  he,  the  while,  thinking  me  his  greedy  slave.  And  so, 
usurping  the  place  of  some  other  who  would  have  ambushed 
you  in  real  enmity,  I  came  hither  on  his  errand.' 

'  Marcian,'  said  the  listener,  '  I  could  make  a  guess  at  that 
man's  name.' 

'Nay,  I  doubt  if  you  could,  and  indeed  it  matters  nothing. 
Enough  that  I  may  do  you  some  little  service.' 

'  For  which,'  replied  Basil,  '  I  cannot  pay  you,  since  all  my 
love  is  already  yours.  And  she — Heliodora,'  he  added,  with 
a  careless  gesture,  '  knows  of  your  mission?' 

'  Of  my  mission,  no ;  but  of  my  proposed  journey.  Though 
indeed  she  may  know  more  than  I  suppose.  Who  shall  say 
what  reaches  the  ear  of  Heliodora ? ' 

'  You  have  not  heard  perhaps  that  her  husband  is  dead  ? ' 


BASIL'S  VISION  15 

'The  Prefect  dead?'  exclaimed  Basil. 

'Three  weeks  ago. — Rather  suddenly — after  supper.  An 
indigestion,  no  doubt.' 

Marcian  spoke  with  peculiar  dryness,  averting  his  eyes 
from  the  listener.  Upon  Basil's  face  came  a  deep  flush  ;  he 
took  out  the  folded  paper  again,  and  held  it  at  arm's  length. 

'  You  mean ?     You  think ? '  he  stammered. 

'About  women  I  think  not  at  all,'  said  the  other,  'as  you 
well  know.  There  is  talk,  talk — what  care  I  ? ' 

Basil  tore  the  letter  open.  It  contained  a  lock  of  raven- 
black  hair,  tied  with  gold  thread,  and  on  the  paper  was 
written,  in  Greek,  '  I  am  free.'  Again  his  cheek  flushed ;  he 
crushed  paper  and  hair  together  in  his  hand. 

1  Let  us  never  again  speak  of  her,'  he  exclaimed,  moving 
away  from  the  spot.  '  Before  I  left  Rome,  I  told  you  that  I 
would  gladly  see  her  no  more,  and  you  smiled  dubiously. 
Believe  me  now.  I  abhor  the  thought  of  her.  If  she  ask 
you  for  my  reply,  repeat  those  words.' 

'Nay,  dear  my  lord,  in  that  I  will  beg  to  be  excused, 
replied  Marcian  with  his  melancholy  smile. 

They  were  walking  silently,  side  by  side,  when  the  servant 
Felix  again  presented  himself  before  them.  Maximus,  having 
heard  of  the  arrival  of  Marcian  from  Rome,  requested  that 
he  and  Basil  would  grant  him  a  moment  of  their  leisure.  At 
once  the  young  men  turned  to  obey  this  summons.  On  the 
way,  Basil  communicated  to  his  friend  in  a  whisper  the  event 
of  the  day.  A  couple  of  hours  having  passed  since  Aurelia's 
coming,  the  Senator  had  in  some  degree  recovered  from  his 
agitation ;  he  lay  now  in  a  room  which  opened  upon  the 
central  court  of  the  villa,  a  room  adorned  with  rich  marbles 
and  with  wall-paintings  which  were  fading  under  the  hand  of 
time.  Deathly  pale,  scarce  able  to  raise  his  head  from  the 
cushion  of  the  couch,  he  none  the  less  showed  a  countenance 
bright  with  joyous  emotion.  His  quivering  voice  strove  to 
welcome  the  visitor  cheerily. 

1  What  news  from  the  city,  dear  lord  Marcian  ?  How  are 
all  our  friends  ?  Do  they  begin  to  forget  us  ? ' 


16  VERANILDA 

'  Not  so,  Illustrious,'  answered  the  young  man,  with  head 
bent.  '  You  are  much  desired  in  the  Senate,  where  grave 
counsel  is  just  now  greatly  in  demand.' 

'The  Senate,  the  Senate,'  murmured  Maximus,  as  if 
reminded  of  something  he  had  long  forgotten.  '  They  must 
needs  lack  my  voice,  I  fear.  What  do  men  say  of  the  Gothic 
king  ? ' 

Marcian  threw  a  glance  at  Basil,  then  towards  the  curtained 
portals  of  the  room;  lastly,  his  eyes  turned  upon  the  sick 
man,  whom  he  regarded  steadily. 

1  They  say  much — or  little,'  fell  from  his  lips. 

'I  understand  you,'  replied  the  Senator,  with  a  friendly 
movement  of  the  head.  '  Here  we  may  speak  freely.  Does 
Totila  draw  near  to  Rome  ? ' 

'  He  is  still  in  Tuscany,  and  rumours  come  from  his  army 
that  he  will  pass  into  Samnium.  All  the  strongholds  of 
Umbria  are  his ;  all  the  conquests  of  Belisarius  from  Ariminum 
to  Spoletium.' 

'  Where  are  the  Roman  captains  ? ' 

'  Each  in  his  city  of  the  far  north,  holding  the  plunder 
he  has  got,  and  looking  for  the  chance  of  more.  In 
Rome ' 

Marcian  paused  significantly,  and  the  Senator  took  up  his 
words. 

'  In  Rome  rules  Bessas.' 

'The  Thracian,'  remarked  Basil  bitterly. 

'  And  in  Ravenna,'  added  the  sick  man,  '  Alexandros — the 
coin-clipper.' 

The  eyes  of  Basil  and  of  Marcian  encountered.  Between 
them  came  no  shadow  of  distrust,  the  smile  they  exchanged 
told  of  loyal  affection. 

'This  Totila,'  pursued  Marcian,  'seems  to  be  not  only  a 
brave  and  capable  commander,  but  a  shrewd  politician. 
Everywhere  he  spares  the  people ;  he  takes  nothing  by  force ; 
his  soldiers  buy  at  market;  he  protects  the  farmer  against 
the  taxing  Greek.  As  a  result,  his  army  grows;  where  he 
passes,  he  leaves  a  good  report,  and  before  him  goes  a  wel- 


BASIL'S  VISION  17 

come.  At  this  rate  he  will  soon  make  all  Italy  his  own. 
And  unless  the  Patricius  returns ' 

By  this  title  men  were  wont  to  speak  of  Belisarius.  Hear- 
ing it,  Basil  threw  up  an  arm,  his  eyes  flashing. 

'  The  Patricius  ! '  he  exclaimed  fervently.  '  There  is  the 
man  who  might  have  saved  us ! ' 

'  By  the  holy  Laurentius ! '  murmured  Maximus,  looking 
sadly  at  his  nephew,  'I  have  all  but  come  to  think  as 
you  do.' 

'  Who  that  knew  him,'  cried  Basil,  '  but  must  have  seen  him, 
in  thought — not  King,  for  only  the  barbarians  have  kings — 
but  Emperor — Emperor  of  the  West,  ruling  at  Rome  as  in  the 
days  gone  by !  There  lives  no  man  more  royal.  I  have  seen 
him  day  by  day  commanding  and  taking  counsel;  I  have 
talked  with  him  in  his  privacy.  In  the  camp  before  Ravenna 
there  was  but  one  voice,  one  hope,  as  to  what  should  follow 
when  the  city  opened  its  gates,  and  the  Goths  themselves 
only  surrendered  because  they  thought  to  be  ruled  by  him. 
But  for  the  scruple  of  his  conscience — and  should  not  that 
have  yielded  to  the  general  good  ? ' 

'Is  breach  of  faith  so  light  a  thing?'  fell  from  Marcian, 
under  his  breath. 

'Nay,'  answered  the  other,  with  drooping  head,  'but  he 
did  break  faith  with  us.  We  had  his  promise ;  we  saw  him 
Emperor ' 

'You  should  have  won  Antonina,'  said  Marcian,  with  a 
return  to  his  sarcastic  humour.  '  She  must  have  mused  long 
and  anxiously,  weighing  the  purple  against  Theodora's  fury. 
The  Patrician's  fidelity  stood  by  his  wife's  prudence.' 

'  The  one  blot  upon  his  noble  nature,'  uttered  Basil,  with 
a  sigh.  'His  one  weakness.  How,'  he  cried  scornfully, 
'can  the  conqueror  of  half  the  world  bend  before  such  a 
woman  ? ' 

Fatigued  already  by  the  conversation,  Maximus  had  lain 
back  and  closed  his  eyes.  Very  soon  the  two  young  men 
received  his  permission  to  withdraw,  and,  as  they  left  the 
room,  the  physician  entered.  Obedient  to  this  counsellor  the 

B 


i8  VERANILDA 

invalid  gave  several  hours  to  repose,  but  midway  in  the  after- 
noon he  again  summoned  his  daughter,  with  whom  he  had 
a  long  and  agitating  conversation.  He  besought  Aurelia  to 
cast  off  her  heretical  religion,  putting  before  her  all  the  perils 
to  which  she  exposed  herself,  by  abandonment  of  the  true 
faith,  in  this  world  and  the  next.  His  life  was  hurrying  to 
its  end;  hour  by  hour  he  felt  the  fever  wasting  what  little 
strength  remained  to  him ;  and  when  he  was  gone  who  would 
protect  her  against  the  enmities  to  which  religion  and  avarice 
would  expose  her?  Aurelia's  resistance  was  sullen  rather 
than  resolute ;  her  countenance,  her  words,  suggested  that  she 
was  thinking  more  of  what  it  would  cost  her  pride  to  become 
a  penitent  than  of  any  obstacle  in  conscience.  At  length  she 
declared  plainly  that  never  would  she  humiliate  herself  before 
her  aunt  Petronilla,  who  had  offered  her  no  greeting  and  held 
scornfully  apart.  Here,  as  Maximus  too  well  knew,  lay  the 
great  difficulty  of  the  situation;  these  women  hated  each 
other,  and  their  hate  would  only  be  exasperated  by  Aurelia's 
convers  on.  He  spoke  of  the  deacon  Leander,  now  on  his 
way  hither — begged  Aurelia  to  listen  to  the  reverend  man, 
and  gave  solemn  assurance  that,  the  moment  she  abjured  her 
errors,  he  would  place  her  in  a  position  of  wealth  and 
authority  far  above  that  of  Petronilla.  So  utterly  did  he 
exhaust  himself  in  entreaty  and  argument  that  he  fell  into  a 
fainting  fit.  The  physician  was  called  for,  and  Aurelia,  she 
too  overcome  with  violent  emotions,  again  retired  to  the  part 
of  the  villa  which  had  been  assigned  to  her. 

The  Anicii  of  a  bygone  time,  who  took  their  solace  here  when 
marbles  and  mosaics,  paintings  and  tapestries,  were  yet  new, 
would  have  looked  with  consternation  on  halls  so  crumbling 
and  bare,  chambers  so  ill-appointed,  as  these  in  which  the 
guests  of  the  Senator  Maximus  had  their  dwelling.  Space 
there  was  in  abundance,  but  of  comfort  in  the  guest- 
rooms little  enough;  and  despite  her  brother's  commands, 
Petronilla  had  seen  to  it  that  Aurelia  was  not  luxuriously 
lodged.  Better  accommodation  awaited  the  deacon  Leander, 
whose  arrival  was  announced  an  hour  before  sunset  by  a 


BASIL'S  VISION  19 

trotting  courier.  His  journey  from  Salernum  had  so  wearied 
the  ecclesiastic  that  he  could  but  give  a  hand  to  be  kissed  by 
his  hostess,  and  straightway  retire  into  privacy;  the  repast 
that  was  ready  for  him  had  to  be  served  beside  his  couch, 
and  soon  after  night  had  fallen,  Leander  slumbered  peacefully. 
Meanwhile  Basil  and  Decius  and  their  friend  from  Rome 
had  supped  together,  making  what  cheer  they  might  under 
the  circumstances;  the  Surrentine  wine  was  a  little  acrid, 
falling  short  of  its  due  age,  but  it  sufficed  to  animate  the 
talk.  Presently  Decius  withdrew,  to  study  or  to  meditate 
through  some  hours  of  the  night,  for  he  slept  ill ;  the  others, 
going  apart  to  a  gallery  lighted  by  the  full  moon,  sat  wrapped 
in  thick,  hooded  cloaks,  to  converse  awhile  before  they  slept. 
With  their  voices  mingled  the  soft  splash  of  a  fountain. 

Basil  was  telling  of  his  journey  to  Cumae,  and  of  the  difficulty 
he  had  had  in  persuading  Aurelia  to  visit  her  father. 

'  Does  she  live  alone  there  ? '  inquired  Marcian. 

There  was  a  pause  before  the  reply,  and  when  Basil  spoke 
his  voice  fell  to  a  note  of  half-hesitating  confidence. 

'Alone?  yes,'  he  said,  'in  the  sense  that  no  relative  abode 
with  her;  but  she  had  a  companion — a  lady — very  young.' 
And  here  he  again  paused,  as  if  in  some  embarrassment. 

'  A  Roman  ? '  was  Marcian's  next  question,  carelessly  thrown 
out,  for  he  had  little  interest  in  Aurelia,  and  was  half  occupied 
with  other  thoughts. 

'No,'  answered  Basil,  his  voice  subdued.  'A  Goth;  and, 
she  says,  of  the  royal  blood,  of  the  line  of  Theodoric.' 

His  friend  became  attentive.  'A  Gothic  princess?  Whose 
daughter,  then?'  asked  Marcian.  And  Basil,  who  desired 
nothing  more  than  to  speak  on  this  subject,  little  by  little 
threw  off  his  hesitancy,  grew  rapid  and  eager  in  narration. 
He  told  how,  on  his  first  introduction  to  Aurelia's  presence, 
he  had  found  sitting  with  her  a  young  girl,  whose  aspect  pro- 
claimed her  of  the  Gothic  race.  In  a  second  interview  with 
his  cousin,  alone,  Aurelia  had  spoken  of  this  companion, 
bestowing  much  praise  upon  her,  and  declaring  that  they 
were  united  by  an  affection  which  nothing  could  diminish. 


20  VERANILDA 

She  was  of  Amal  blood;  more  than  that  Aurelia  seemed 
unwilling  to  reveal. 

' Did  you  not  learn  her  name? '  asked  the  listener. 

'  Veranilda.' 

Marcian  echoed  the  melodious  syllables,  but  they  told  him 
nothing. 

*  And  did  you  make  no  inquiry  of  those  with  whom  you 
spoke  ? ' 

'  I  conversed  as  little  as  might  be  with  strangers,  and  pur- 
posely held  apart  from  our  acquaintances  in  the  town ;  this 
was  my  uncle's  express  command.' 

'  You  had  no  second  sight  of  her  ? ' 

'  Indeed  I  had ;  and  talked  with  her  moreover.  Marcian, 
how  can  I  describe  her  to  you?  The  words  which  suffice  for 
common  beauty  sound  meaningless  when  I  would  use  them 
to  depict  Veranilda.  Shall  I  tell  you  that  she  has  hair  of 
the  purest  gold,  eyes  brighter  than  the  sky  at  noon,  lips  like 
the  flower  of  the  pomegranate,  a  cheek  so  fair,  so  soft — nay, 
you  may  well  laugh  at  these  idle  phrases ' 

'Not  your  phrases,'  said  Marcian,  'but  your  voice  as  it 
utters  them  sets  me  smiling.  Talk  on.  The  chaste  goddess 
who  beams  above  us  inspire  you  with  worthy  terms  ! ' 

'There  you  speak  to  the  point,'  pursued  Basil  ardently. 
'  For  Veranilda  is  chaste  as  she  is  beautiful.  Blessed  saints ! 
how  my  heart  shrank  in  abhorrence  when  I  saw  that  letter 
this  morning ;  and  how  fain  I  would  blot  from  my  memory 
that  baseness  of  the  past !  O  Marcian,  truest  of  friends,  I 
slighted  your  counsel,  scoffed  at  your  warnings,  but  now  I 
know  how  wisely  and  how  honestly  you  spoke.' 

'Be  that  as  it  may,'  said  the  other.  'But  is  it  possible 
that,  on  a  mere  glimpse,  this  Gothic  maiden  should  so  have 
vanquished  you  ? ' 

'  It  had  been  more  prudent  to  hold  my  peace.  But  you 
know  me  of  old.  When  I  am  moved,  I  must  needs  unbosom 
myself;  happy  that  I  have  one  whom  I  can  trust.  Her 
voice,  Marcian!  This  whisper  of  the  night  breeze  in  the 
laurels  falls  rudely  upon  the  ear  after  Veranilda's  speech. 


BASIL'S  VISION  21 

Never  have  I  heard  a  tone  so  soft,  so  gentle.  The  first  word 
she  spoke  thrilled  through  me,  as  never  did  voice  before; 
and  I  listened,  listened,  hoping  she  would  speak  again.' 

'Who  may  she  be?  Has  not  the  lady  Aurelia  adorned  her 
origin?  Golden  hair  and  blue  eyes  are  no  rarity  among 
daughters  of  the  Goths.' 

'  Had  you  seen  her ! '  exclaimed  Basil,  and  grew  rapturous 
again.  Whilst  he  exhausted  language  in  the  effort  to  prove 
how  remote  was  Veranilda  from  any  shape  of  loveliness  easily 
presented  by  memory  or  imagination,  Marcian  pondered. 

'  I  can  think  of  but  one  likelihood,'  was  his  quiet  remark, 
when  his  friend  had  become  silent.  '  King  Theodahad  had 
a  daughter,  who  married  the  Gothic  captain,  Ebrimut.' 

'The  traitor,'  murmured  Basil  uneasily. 

'Or  friend  of  the  Romans,  as  you  will.  He  delivered 
Rhegium  to  Belisarius,  and  enjoys  his  reward  at  Byzantium. 
What  if  he  left  a  child  behind  him  ? ' 

Basil  repulsed  the  suggestion  vehemently. 

'Not  that!  I  had  half  thought  of  it  myself;  but  no. 
Aurelia  said  of  the  house  of  Theodoric.' 

'Why  so  would  be  a  daughter  of  Ebrimut,  through  her 
mother — who  was  the  daughter  of  Theodahad,  who  was  the 
son  of  Amalafrida,  who  was  the  sister  of  Theodoric  himself.' 

'She  could  not  have  meant  that,'  protested  Basil.  'Child 
of  a  mercenary  traitor,  who  opened  Italy  to  his  people's  foe ! 
Not  that!  Had  you  seen  her,  you  would  not  believe  it.' 

'Oh,  my  good  Basil,'  laughed  the  other,  'do  you  think  I 
should  see  her  with  your  eyes  ?  But  perhaps  we  conjecture 
idly,  quite  missing  the  mark.  What  does  it  matter?  You 
have  no  intention,  I  hope,  of  returning  to  Cumae  ? ' 

Basil  opened  his  lips  to  reply,  but  thought  better  of  it, 
and  said  nothing.  Then  his  friend  turned  to  speak  of  the 
ecclesiastical  visitor  who  had  that  evening  arrived,  and,  the 
subject  not  proving  very  fruitful,  each  presently  betook  himself 
to  his  night's  repose. 


CHAPTER    III 

THE  DEACON   LEANDER 

THE  deacon  Leander  was  some  forty  years  of  age,  stoutish,  a 
trifle  asthmatic,  with  a  long  visage  expressive  of  much  shrewd- 
ness, and  bushy  eyebrows,  which  lent  themselves  at  will  to  a 
look  of  genial  condescension,  of  pious  austerity,  or  of  stern 
command.  His  dark  hair  and  reddish  beard  were  carefully 
trimmed ;  so  were  the  nails  of  his  shapely,  delicate  hands. 
His  voice,  now  subject  to  huskiness,  had  until  a  few  years 
ago  been  remarkably  powerful  and  melodious;  no  deacon 
in  Rome  was  wont  to  excite  more  admiration  by  his  chant- 
ing of  the  Gradual ;  but  that  glory  had  passed  away,  and  at 
the  present  time  Leander's  spiritual  activity  was  less  promi- 
nent than  his  services  as  a  most  capable  steward  of  the 
patrimony  of  St.  Peter.  He  travelled  much,  had  an  extensive 
correspondence,  and  was  probably  rather  respected  than 
reverenced  by  most  lay  folk  with  whom  he  came  in  contact. 

But  in  the  eyes  of  the  lady  Petronilla,  Leander  was  an 
ideal  churchman.  No  one  treated  her  judgment  with  so 
much  respect ;  no  one  confided  to  her  curious  ear  so  many 
confidential  matters,  ranging  from  the  secret  scandals  of 
aristocratic  Rome  to  high  debates  of  ecclesiastical  polity — 
or  what  Petronilla  regarded  as  such.  Their  closer  acquaint- 
ance began  with  the  lady's  presentation  of  certain  columns  of 
tawny  Numidian  marble,  from  a  ruined  temple  she  had  in- 
herited, to  the  deacon's  basilica,  St.  Laurentius ;  and  many 
were  the  donations  which  Leander  had  since  accepted  from 
her  on  behalf  of  the  Church.  In  return,  he  had  once  or 
twice  rejoiced  her  with  the  gift  of  a  precious  relic,  such  as 
n 


THE   DEACON   LEANDER          23 

came  into  the  hands  of  few  below  royal  rank;  thus  had 
Petronilla  obtained  the  filings  of  the  chain  of  St.  Peter,  which, 
enclosed  in  a  golden  key,  hung  upon  her  bosom.  Some  day, 
as  the  deacon  well  knew,  this  pious  virgin  would  beg  him  to 
relieve  her  of  all  her  earthly  possessions,  and  enter  into 
some  holy  retreat ;  but  she  awaited  the  death  of  her  brother, 
by  whose  will  she  would  doubtless  benefit  more  or  less 
substantially. 

If,  in  view  of  the  illness  of  Maximus,  Petronilla  had 
regarded  the  deacon's  visit  as  providential,  the  event  of 
yesterday  moved  her  to  a  more  agitated  thankfulness  for  the 
conference  she  was  about  to  enjoy.  After  a  night  made 
sleepless  by  dread  and  wrath,  she  rose  at  daybreak  and  passed 
in  a  fever  of  impatience  the  time  which  elapsed  before  her 
reverend  guest  issued  from  his  chamber.  This  being  the 
fourth  day  of  the  week,  Petronilla  held  rigid  fast  until  the  hour 
of  nones ;  and  of  course  no  refreshment  was  offered  to  the 
churchman,  who,  with  that  smiling  placidity,  that  graceful  self- 
possession,  which  ever  distinguished  him  in  such  society,  at 
length  entered  the  inner  hall,  and  suavely,  almost  tenderly, 
greeted  his  noble  hostess.  Brimming  over  as  she  was  with 
anxiety  and  indignation,  Petronilla  allowed  nothing  of  this 
to  appear  in  her  reception  of  the  revered  friend.  To  his 
inquiries  touching  the  health  of  the  Senator,  she  replied  with 
significant  gravity  that  Maximus  had  suffered  during  the 
night,  and  was  this  morning,  by  the  physician's  report,  much 
weaker;  she  added  not  a  word  on  the  momentous  subject 
presently  to  be  broached.  Then  Leander,  after  viewing  with 
many  compliments  a  piece  of  rich  embroidery  which  occupied 
the  lady's  leisure,  and  on  its  completion  would  of  course  be 
put  at  his  disposal,  took  a  seat,  set  the  tips  of  his  fingers 
together,  and  began  to  chat  pleasantly  of  his  journey.  Many 
were  the  pious  offerings  which  had  fallen  to  him  upon  his 
way :  that  of  the  Sicilian  lady  who  gave  her  little  all  to  be 
used  to  maintain  the  lamps  in  the  basilica  of  the  Chief 
Apostle ;  that  of  the  merchant  encountered  on  shipboard, 
who  gave  ten  pounds  of  gold  to  purchase  the  freedom  of 


24  VERANILDA 

slaves ;  that  of  the  wealthy  curial  in  Lucania,  healed  of  disease 
by  miracle  on  the  feast  of  St.  Cyprian,  who  bestowed  upon 
the  church  in  gratitude  many  acres  of  olive-bearing  land,  and 
promised  an  annual  shipload  of  prime  hogs  to  feed  St.  Peter's 
poor.  By  smooth  transition  he  passed  to  higher  themes: 
with  absent  eyes  turned  to  the  laurel-planted  court  on  to 
which  the  hall  opened,  he  spoke  as  if  scarcely  aware  of  a 
listener,  of  troubles  at  Rome  occasioned  by  imprudences, 
indiscretions — what  should  he  say — of  the  Holy  Father. 
As  Petronilla  bent  forward,  all  tremulous  curiosity,  he 
lowered  his  voice,  grew  frankly  confidential.  The  Pope  had 
been  summoned  to  Byzantium,  to  discuss  certain  points  of 
doctrine  with  the  Emperor;  his  departure  was  delayed,  but 
no  doubt  in  his  weakness  he  would  obey.  Verily,  the  lack 
of  courage — not  to  use  severer  terms — so  painfully  evident 
in  Pope  Vigilius,  was  a  grave  menace  to  the  Church — the 
Catholic  Church,  which,  rightly  claiming  to  rule  Christendom, 
should  hold  no  terms  with  the  arrogance  of  Justinian.  Could 
it  be  wondered  that  the  Holy  Father  was  disliked — not  to 
say  hated — by  the  people  of  Rome  ?  By  his  ill  management 
the  papal  granaries  had  of  late  been  so  ill  stored  that  the 
poor  had  suffered  famine,  the  Greeks  having  put  an  end  to 
that  gratuitous  distribution  of  food  to  which  the  Roman 
populace  had  from  of  old  been  accustomed.  On  this  account, 
chiefly,  had  Leander  journeyed  to  Sicily,  to  look  after  the 
supplies  of  corn,  and  seek  out  those  who  were  to  blame  for 
the  recent  negligence.  His  bushy  eyebrows  gave  a  hint  of 
their  sterner  possibilities  as  he  spoke  of  the  measures  he  had 
taken,  the  reproofs  and  threats  he  had  distributed. 

'  May  I  live,'  breathed  Petronilla,  with  modest  emphasis, 
'  to  see  a  great,  a  noble,  a  puissant  Pontiff  in  the  Apostolic 
Chair ! ' 

Whereat  the  deacon  smiled,  well  understanding  whither  the 
lady  looked  for  her  ideal  Pope.  She  went  on  to  speak  of  the 
part  Vigilius  had  played  in  the  deposition  and  miserable 
death  of  his  predecessor  Silverius,  and  that,  as  was  too  well 
known,  at  the  bidding  of  haughty,  unscrupulous  women, 


THE   DEACON   LEANDER          25 

the  Empress  Theodora  and  her  friend  Antonina,  wife  of 
Belisarius.  Verily,  the  time  had  come  for  a  great  reform  at 
the  Lateran ;  the  time  had  come,  and  perhaps  the  divine 
instrument  was  not  far  to  seek.  Whereupon  Petronilla  mur- 
mured ardently,  and  the  deacon  again  smiled. 

There  was  a  pause.  Having  permitted  Leander  to  muse 
a  little,  his  hostess  turned  the  conversation  to  the  troublous 
topic  of  her  thoughts ;  and  began  by  saying  how  her  brother 
would  esteem  the  privilege  of  counsel  and  solace  from  one 
so  qualified  to  impart  them.  But  alas !  she  must  make 
known  a  distressful  occurrence,  whereby  the  office  of  a 
spiritual  adviser  by  the  bedside  of  Maximus  must  needs  be 
complicated  and  made  painful;  and  therewith  Petronilla 
related  the  events  of  yesterday.  As  he  listened,  the  deacon 
knitted  his  brows,  but  in  thought  rather  than  in  affliction ; 
and  when  the  speaker  was  silent,  he  still  mused  awhile. 

'Gracious  madam,' he  began  at  length  solemnly,  'you  of 
course  hold  no  intercourse  with  this  lady? ' 

I  None  !     I  have  shrunk  ever  from  the  sight  of  her.' 
'Such  abhorrence  of  error  witnesses  to  the  purity  and  the 

illumination  of  your  soul :  I  could  have  expected  nothing 
less  from  Petronilla.  You  know  not  whether  the  misguided 
woman  shows  any  disposition  to  return  to  the  true  faith  ? ' 

I 1  fear  not,'  replied  Petronilla,   looking  rather  as  if  the 
fear  were  a  hope.      '  Her  nature  is  stubborn  :  she  has  the 
pride  of  the  fallen  angels.' 

'  And  her  father,  I  am  afraid,  has  no  longer  the  strength 
to  treat  her  sin  with  due  severity?' 

'Earthly  affection  has  subdued  him,'  replied  the  lady, 
shaking  her  head.  'Who  knows,'  she  added,  'how  far  his 
weakness  may  lead  my  poor  brother  ? ' 

She  glanced  about  the  hall,  and  Leander  perfectly  under- 
stood what  was  in  her  mind. 

'  Be  not  over  anxious,'  he  replied  soothingly.  '  Leave 
this  in  my  hands.  Should  it  be  necessary,  I  can  dispose  of 
some  days  before  pursuing  my  journey.  Take  comfort, 
noble  and  pious  lady  !  The  truth  will  prevail.' 


26  VERANILDA 

The  deacon's  first  step  was  to  obtain  a  private  interview 
with  the  physician.  He  then  made  known  his  desire  to  wait 
upon  Maximus,  and  with  no  great  delay  was  admitted.  Tact- 
fully, sagaciously,  he  drew  the  sufferer  to  confide  in  him,  to 
see  in  him,  not  so  much  a  spiritual  admonisher  as  a  coun- 
sellor and  a  support  in  worldly  difficulties.  Leander  was 
already  well  aware  that  the  Senator  had  small  religious  zeal, 
but  belonged  to  the  class  of  men,  numerous  at  this  time, 
who,  whilst  professing  the  Christian  and  the  orthodox  faith, 
were  in  truth  philosophers  rather  than  devotees,  and  regarded 
dogmatic  questions  with  a  calm  not  easily  distinguished  from 
indifference.  Maximus  had  scarcely  spoken  of  his  daughter, 
when  the  deacon  understood  it  was  Aurelia's  temporal,  much 
more  than  her  eternal,  interests  which  disturbed  the  peace  of 
the  dying  man.  Under  Roman  law,  bequests  to  a  heretic 
were  null  and  void ;  though  this  enactment  had  for  the  most 
part  been  set  aside  in  Italy  under  Gothic  rule,  it  might  be 
that  the  Imperial  code  would  henceforth  prevail.  Maximus 
desired  to  bestow  upon  his  daughter  a  great  part  of  his 
possessions.  Petronilla,  having  sufficient  means  of  her  own, 
might  well  be  content  with  a  moderate  bequest ;  Basil,  the 
relative  next  of  kin,  had  a  worthy  claim  upon  his  uncle's 
generous  treatment,  and  Decius,  who  needed  but  little,  must 
have  that  little  assured.  The  father  had  hoped  that  his 
entreaties,  together  with  a  prospect  of  substantial  reward,  would 
prevail  against  Aurelia's  pride-rooted  heresy,  but  as  yet  he 
pleaded  and  tempted  in  vain.  Could  the  deacon  help  him  ? 

Leander  seemed  to  meditate  profoundly.  The  subject  of 
his  thought  was  what  seemed  to  him  a  glaring  omission  in 
this  testament  of  Maximus.  He  breathed  an  intimate  in- 
quiry :  Was  the  sick  man  at  peace  with  his  own  soul  ?  Had 
he  sought  strength  and  solace  from  the  reverend  presbyter  of 
Surrentum,  his  spiritual  father  in  this  district  ?  Maximus 
replied  that  he  had  neglected  no  ordinary  means  of  grace. 
Whilst  speaking,  he  met  the  deacon's  eye ;  its  significance 
was  not  to  be  mistaken. 

1 1  should  have  mentioned,'  he  said,  averting  his  look,  'that 


THE   DEACON   LEANDER  27 

the  presbyter  Andreas  and  his  poor  will  not  be  forgotten. 
Moreover,  many  of  my  slaves  will  receive  their  freedom.' 

Leander  murmured  approvingly.  Again  he  reflected,  and 
again  he  ventured  an  inquiry:  Maximus  would  desire,  no 
doubt,  to  rest  with  his  glorious  ancestors  in  the  mortuary 
chapel,  known  as  the  Temple  of  Probus,  by  St.  Peter's  ?  And 
seeing  the  emotion  this  excited  in  his  listener  he  went  on  to 
speak  at  large  of  the  Anician  house — first  among  the  great 
families  of  Rome  to  embrace  Christianity,  and  distinguished, 
generation  after  generation,  by  their  support  of  the  church, 
which  indeed  numbered  among  its  Supreme  Pontiffs  one  of 
their  line,  the  third  Felix.  Did  not  the  illustrious  father  of 
Maximus  lead  the  Christian  senators  in  their  attack  upon 
that  lingering  shame,  the  heathen  Lupercalia,  since  so  happily 
supplanted  by  the  Feast  of  the  Purification  of  the  Blessed 
Mary  ?  He,  dying — added  Leander,  with  an  ecstatic  smile — 
made  over  to  the  Apostolic  See  an  estate  in  Sicily  which 
yielded  every  year  two  rich  harvests  to  the  widows,  the 
orphans,  the  sick,  and  the  destitute  of  Rome. 

'  Deacon,'  broke  from  the  hot  lips  of  Maximus,  who  strug- 
gled to  raise  himself,  '  if  I  do  the  like,  will  you  swear  to  me 
to  use  your  influence,  your  power,  for  the  protection  of  my 
daughter  ? ' 

It  was  the  voice  of  nature  in  its  struggle  with  the  universal 
doom ;  reason  had  little  part  in  the  hope  with  which  those 
fading  eyes  fixed  themselves  upon  the  countenance  of  the 
self-possessed  churchman. 

'Heaven  forbid,'  was  Leander's  reply,  'that  I  should 
bind  myself  in  such  terms  to  perform  an  office  of  friend- 
ship, which  under  any  circumstances  would  be  my  anxious 
care.' 

'  Even,'  asked  Maximus,  'if  she  persist  in  her  heresy?' 

'Even  so,  my  dear  lord,  remembering  from  whom  she 
springs.  But,'  he  added,  in  a  soothing  voice,  'let  me  put 
your  mind  at  rest.  Trust  me,  the  lady  Aurelia  will  not  long 
cling  to  her  error.  In  poverty,  in  humiliation,  she  might  be 
obstinate;  but  as  the  possessor  of  wealth — restored  to  her 


28  VERANILDA 

due  rank — oh,  my  gracious  lord,  be  assured  that  her  con- 
version will  soon  follow.' 

The  same  thought  had  occurred  to  Maximus.  He  sighed 
in  profound  relief,  and  regarded  the  deacon  gratefully. 

'  In  that  hope  I  rest.  Give  me  your  promise  to  befriend 
her,  and  ask  of  me  what  you  will.' 

Save  for  the  hours  she  passed  at  her  father's  side,  Aurelia 
kept  a  strict  retirement,  guarded  by  the  three  female  slaves 
whom  Petronilla  had  reluctantly  assigned  to  her.  Of  them 
she  required  no  intimate  service,  having  her  own  attendants, 
an  elderly  woman,  the  nurse  of  her  childhood,  who  through 
all  changes  of  fortune  had  never  quitted  her,  and  a  younger, 
half-Goth,  half-Italian,  who  discharged  humbler  duties.  She 
occupied  a  small  dwelling  apart  from  the  main  structure  of 
the  villa,  but  connected  with  it  by  a  portico :  this  was  called 
the  House  of  Proba,  it  having  been  constructed  a  hundred 
years  ago  for  the  lady  Faltonia  Proba,  who  wrote  verses,  and 
perhaps  on  that  account  desired  a  special  privacy.  Though 
much  neglected,  the  building  had  beauty  of  form,  and  was 
full  of  fine  work  in  mosaic.  Here,  in  a  little  peristyle,  where 
shrubs  and  creepers  had  come  to  wild  growth,  the  sore- 
hearted  lady  sat  brooding  or  paced  backwards  and  forwards, 
her  eyes  ever  on  the  ground.  When  yet  a  maiden  she  had 
several  times  spent  summer  at  Surrentum ;  her  memory 
revived  that  early  day  which  seemed  so  long  ago  ;  she  lived 
again  with  her  brothers  and  sisters,  all  dead,  with  her  mother 
whom  griefs  had  aged  so  soon.  Then  came  a  loveless 
marriage,  which  soon  involved  her  in  the  public  troubles  of 
the  time;  for  her  husband,  whose  estates  lay  in  Tuscany, 
was  robbed  of  all  by  Theodahad,  and  having  vainly  sought 
redress  from  the  young  King  Athalaric,  decided  to  leave 
Italy  for  Byzantium,  to  which  end  Aurelia  sold  a  property  in 
Campania,  her  dower.  Before  they  could  set  forth  upon 
their  journey,  her  husband  caught  the  plague  and  died.  In 
second  wedlock  she  would  have  known  contentment  but  for 
the  alienation  of  her  kin  and  the  scornful  hostility  of  all  her 
class.  When  widowhood  again  befell  her  she  was  saved  from 


THE   DEACON   LEANDER          29 

want  by  a  small  treasure  of  money  which  remained  hidden  in 
the  dwelling  at  Cumae  when  the  Gothic  warrior,  her  lord, 
escaped  from  Belisarius.  As  this  store  diminished,  Aurelia 
had  looked  forward  with  dread,  for  she  hoped  nothing  from 
her  father.  And  now  that  such  fears  seemed  to  be  over,  her 
long-tortured  pride  clamoured  for  solace.  It  was  not  enough 
to  regain  her  father's  love  and  enjoy  an  inheritance;  she 
wished  to  see  her  enemies  at  her  feet,  and  to  trample  upon 
them — her  enemies  being  not  only  Petronilla  and  certain 
other  kinsfolk  but  all  the  nobility  of  Rome,  nay,  all  the 
orthodox  of  the  Christian  church.  Pacing,  pacing  alone,  she 
brooded  vast  schemes  of  vengeance. 

When  it  was  announced  to  her  that  the  Roman  deacon 
besought  an  interview,  she  at  first  refused  to  receive  him. 
Thereupon  Leander  sent  her  a  few  lines  in  writing,  most 
ceremoniously  worded,  in  which  he  declared  that  his  purposes 
were  those  of  a  disinterested  friend,  that  no  word  such  as 
could  pain  or  offend  her  would  pass  his  lips,  and  that  he  had 
it  in  his  power  to  communicate  something  which  would 
greatly  benefit  her.  Aurelia  reflected  disdainfully,  but  at 
length  consented  to  the  churchman's  approach.  Leander's 
bearing  as  he  entered  her  presence  was  as  elaborately  courteous 
as  the  phrasing  of  his  letter. 

'Noble  lady,'  he  began,  standing  with  bowed  head,  'let  not 
your  eyes  take  note  of  my  garb.  See  in  me  only  a  devoted 
servant  of  your  illustrious  house.  His  Magnificence,  your 
father,  assured  of  the  sincerity  wherewith  I  place  at  his  com- 
mand such  powers  and  opportunities  as  I  owe  to  heaven's 
grace,  has  deigned  to  confide  in  me  regarding  the  disposition 
of  his  worldly  affairs  whereto  he  is  prompted  by  languishing 
health.' 

He  paused  a  moment,  but  Aurelia  had  no  word  of  reply  to 
this  exordium.  Seeing  her  keep  the  same  haughty  posture 
in  her  chair,  with  eyes  scornfully  averted  as  if  she  scarce 
listened,  Leander  proceeded  to  disclose  his  mind  in  less  ornate 
terms.  By  subtle  grades  of  confidential  speech,  beginning 
with  a  declaration  ot  the  sympathy  moved  in  him  by  the 


30  VERANILDA 

parent's  love,  the  daughter's  distress,  he  came  with  lowering 
voice,  with  insinuating  tone,  with  blandly  tolerant  counte- 
nance, to  the  kernel  of  his  discourse  ;  it  contained  a  suggestion 
which  might — he  only  said  might — aid  her  amid  the  manifold 
perplexities  of  her  position.  By  this  time  Aurelia  was  more 
attentive;  the  churchman  almost  affectionate  in  his  suavity, 
grew  still  more  direct ;  and  at  length,  in  a  voice  which  only 
reached  the  ear  of  the  listener,  he  spoke  thus : 

'I  understand  why  you  stepped  aside  from  the  way  of 
truth ;  I  perceive  the  obstacles  hindering  your  return.  I 
know  the  tender  impulses  which  urge  you  to  soothe  your 
father's  last  hours,  and,  no  less,  the  motives,  natural  to  a 
woman  of  your  beauty,  of  your  birth,  which  are  at  strife  with 
that  tenderness  and  threaten  to  overcome  it.  Could  you 
discover  a  means  of  yielding  to  your  filial  affection,  and  at 
the  same  time  safeguarding  your  noble  pride,  would  you  not 
gladly  use  it  ?  Such  a  means  I  can  point  out  to  you.' 

He  became  silent,  watching  Aurelia.  She,  won  by  the 
perspicacity  which  read  her  heart,  had  put  aside  all  arrogance, 
and  wore  a  look  of  grave  intentness. 

'  Let  me  know  it,'  she  murmured. 

'  It  is  this.  Return  to  the  true  belief,  but  guard  awhile  the 
secret  of  your  conversion.  That  it  shall  not  be  disclosed 
until  you  wish,  I  can  give  you  firm  assurance — if  need  be,  on 
solemn  oath.  You  will  privately  make  known  to  your  father 
that  he  has  prevailed,  thereby  you  put  his  flesh  and  spirit  at 
rest, — he  will  die  blessing  you,  and  enriching  you  to  the  full 
extent  of  his  desire.  You  will  then  also  set  your  signature  to 
a  paper,  which  I  shall  write,  making  confession  of  the  ortho- 
dox faith,  and  undertaking  to  be  duly  reconciled  with  the 
church,  by  the  imposition  of  hands,  at  some  convenient 
season.  That  is  all  that  will  be  asked  of  you  for  the  present. 
The  lady  Petronilla ' — he  all  but  smiled  in  uttering  the  name 
— '  shall  not  even  suspect  what  has  happened.' 

'  Will  this  villa  be  mine  ? '  asked  the  listener  after  brief 
reflection. 

'  This  villa  shall  be  yours.' 


THE   DEACON   LEANDER          31 

An  exultant  gleam  shone  in  Aurelia's  eyes. 

'  Deacon,'  she  said  sternly,  '  your  promise  is  not  enough. 
Swear  to  me  that  no  one  living,  save  my  father  and  you,  shall 
know.' 

From  his  bosom  Leander  drew  forth  a  little  golden  cross. 

1  This,'  he  said  reverently,  'contains  dust  of  iron  from  the 
bars  on  which  the  blessed  Laurentius  suffered  martyrdom.' 

'Swear  also,'  demanded  Aurelia,  '  by  the  Holy  Pancratius.' 

In  the  name  of  both  saints  Leander  took  his  oath  of  secrecy. 

Petronilla  was  of  course  aware  that  the  deacon  had  been 
admitted  to  audience  by  her  niece.  When  he  descended, 
she  awaited  him  at  the  end  of  the  portico,  and  her  look 
questioned  him. 

1  Stubborn,  stubborn ! '  murmured  Leander,  shaking  his 
head,  and  passed  on  as  though  in  troubled  thought. 

Later  in  the  day,  when  she  had  seen  her  father,  Aurelia 
made  known  to  her  cousin  Basil,  who  had  requested  an 
interview,  that  he  might  come.  His  cousin  received  him 
smilingly,  almost  affectionately. 

Marcian  having  this  morning  taken  his  leave,  called  away 
by  some  unexplained  business  to  Neapolis,  Basil  had  been 
on  the  point  of  taking  Decius  into  his  amorous  confidence, 
when  this  summons  rejoiced  him. 

'  Is  the  letter  written  ?  '  were  Basil's  first  words. 

1  It  is  here.     Can  you  despatch  it  at  once  ? ' 

'  I  will  take  it  myself,'  he  answered  promptly. 

Aurelia  shook  her  head. 

'  You  must  not.  My  father's  life  is  fast  failing.  No  one 
can  say  which  hour  may  be  his  last.  If  he  asked  for  you, 
and  you  were  absent ' 

'  Felix  shall  go,'  said  Basil.  '  The  wind  is  favourable.  He 
may  have  to  ride  back  to-morrow,  but  we  can  trust  him  to 
make  all  speed.' 

'  He  took  the  letter,  which  was  superscribed,  '  To  the  most 
noble  lady  Veranilda.' 

'  Dear  cousin,  you  have  spoken  of  me  ? '  he  asked  with  a 
wistful  look. 


32  VERANILDA 

'  I  have  said,  good  cousin,'  Aurelia  answered  pleasantly, 
'that  you  wished  to  be  spoken  of.' 

'Only  that?' 

1  What  more  should  I  say  ?  Your  Amiability  is  too  hasty. 
Remember  that  you  have  scarce  seen  her.' 

'Scarce  seen  Veranilda!'  exclaimed  Basil.  'Why,  it 
seems  to  me  as  though  I  had  known  her  for  years !  Have 
we  not  talked  together  ?  ' 

*  Once.  The  first  time  does  not  count ;  you  exchanged 
hardly  a  dozen  words.  When,'  added  Aurelia,  smiling, 
'were  you  so  dashed  in  a  maid's  presence?' 

'  Nay,  never  !  I  am  not  accused  of  too  much  modesty ; 
but  when  I  entered  and  looked  on  Veranilda — oh,  it  was  the 
strangest  moment  of  my  life !  Noble  cousin,'  he  added 
pleadingly,  '  honoured  Aurelia,  do  but  tell  me  what  is  her 
parentage  ? ' 

'  How  does  that  concern  your  Excellence  ?  I  have  told 
you  all  that  it  imports  you  to  know — at  all  events  for  the 
present.  Cousin  Basil,  you  delay  the  letter ;  I  should  wish 
her  to  have  it  before  nightfall,  for  she  thinks  anxiously 
of  me.' 

'  I  go.     When  may  I  again  speak  with  you  ? ' 

1  You  shall  hear  when  I  am  at  leisure.' 

Basil  despatched  his  servant  to  Cumae  not  with  one  letter 
only,  but  with  two.  Greatly  daring,  he  had  himself  written 
to  Veranilda ;  in  brief  terms,  but  every  word  tremulous  with 
his  passion.  And  for  half  an  hour  he  stood  watching  the  sail 
which  wafted  his  messenger  over  the  gulf,  ruffled  to-day  by 
a  south-west  wind,  driver  of  clouds.  Little  thought  had  he 
to  give  to  the  dying  Maximus,  but  at  the  ninth  hour  he 
turned  his  steps  to  the  oratory,  once  a  temple  of  Isis,  and 
heard  the  office,  and  breathed  a  prayer  for  his  kindly  relative. 
Which  duty  discharged,  he  prayed  more  fervently,  to  what- 
ever saint  or  deity  has  ear  for  such  petitions,  that  he  might 
be  loved  by  the  Gothic  maid. 

This  evening  Maximus  seemed  to  suffer  less.  He  lay 
with  closed  eyes,  a  look  of  calm  on  his  worn  countenance. 


THE   DEACON   LEANDER          33 

Beside  him  sat  Decius,  reading  in  low  tones  from  that  treatise 
on  the  Consolation  of  Philosophy,  which  Boethius  wrote  in 
prison,  a  book  wherein  Maximus  sought  comfort,  this  last 
year  or  two  more  often  than  in  the  Evangel,  or  the  Lives  of 
Saints.  Decius  himself  would  have  chosen  a  philosopher  of 
older  time,  but  in  the  words  of  his  own  kinsman,  Maximus 
found  an  appeal  more  intimate,  a  closer  sympathy,  than  in 
ancient  teaching.  He  loved  especially  the  passages  of  verse ; 
and  when  the  reader  came  to  those  lines — 

'  O  felix  hominum  genus, 
Si  vestros  animos  amor 
Quo  coelum  regitur,  regat,' 

he  raised  his  hand,  smiling  with  peculiar  sweetness. 

'Pause  there,  O  Decius,'  he  said,  in  a  weak  but  clear 
voice ;  '  let  me  muse  awhile.'  And  he  murmured  the  verses 
to  himself. 


CHAPTER   IV 

TO  CUMAE 

THE  Bishop  of  Surrentum,  an  elderly  man  and  infirm,  had 
for  the  past  fortnight  been  unable  to  leave  his  house,  but 
day  by  day  he  received  news  of  what  passed  at  the  villa  of 
Maximus,  and  held  with  the  presbyter,  Andreas,  many  collo- 
quies on  that  weighty  topic,  the  senator's  testament.  As  it 
happened,  neither  bishop  nor  presbyter  had  much  aptitude 
for  worldly  affairs  ;  they  were  honest,  simple-minded  clerics, 
occupied  with  visions  and  marvels  and  the  saving  details  of 
dogma;  exultant  whenever  a  piece  of  good  fortune  befell 
their  church,  but  modest  in  urging  a  claim  at  the  bedside 
of  the  sick.  Being  the  son  of  a  freedman  who  had  served 
in  the  Anician  house,  the  bishop  could  not  approach  Maxi- 
mus without  excessive  reverence ;  before  Petronilla  he  was 
even  more  unduly  awed. 

On  Sunday  morning  the  good  prelate  lay  wakeful  at  the  hour 
of  matins,  and  with  quavering  voice  chanted  to  himself  the 
psalm  of  the  office  from  which  his  weakness  held  him  apart. 
Presently  the  door  opened,  and  in  the  dim  lamp-light  appeared 
the  presbyter  Andreas,  stepping  softly.  He  made  known 
that  an  urgent  message  had  just  summoned  him  to  the  villa ; 
Maximus  was  near  his  end. 

'I,  too,  will  come,'  exclaimed  the  bishop,  rising  in  his  bed 
and  ringing  loudly  a  little  hand-bell. 

'  Venerable  father !  your  health ' 

'  Hasten,  hasten,  Andreas  !     I  follow.' 

In  less  than  an  hour  he  descended  from  his  litter,  and, 
resting  on  the  arms  of  two  servants,  was  conducted  to  the 

84 


TO   CUMAE  35 

chamber  of  the  dying  man.  Andreas  had  just  administered 
the  last  rites  ;  whether  the  fixed  eyes  still  saw  was  doubtful. 
At  a  murmur  of  '  the  bishop '  those  by  the  doorway  rever- 
ently drew  aside.  On  one  side  of  the  bed  were  Aurelia  and 
the  deacon ;  on  the  other,  Petronilla  and  Basil  and  Decius. 
Though  kneeling,  the  senator's  daughter  held  herself  proudly. 
Though  tears  were  on  her  face,  she  hardly  disguised  an  air 
of  triumph.  Nor  was  the  head  of  Petronilla  bent ;  her  coun- 
tenance looked  hard  and  cold  as  marble.  Leander,  a  model 
of  decorum,  stepped  with  grave  greeting  towards  the  prelate, 
and  whispered  a  word  or  two.  In  the  stillness  that  followed 
there  quivered  a  deep  breath.  Flavius  Anicius  Maximus  had 
lived  his  life. 

When  the  bishop,  supported  by  Leander  and  Andreas,  rose 
from  prayer,  he  was  led  by  the  obsequious  clerics  to  a  hall 
illumined  by  several  lamps,  where  two  brasiers  gave  forth  a 
grateful  glow  in  the  chill  of  the  autumn  morning.  Round 
about  the  walls,  in  niches,  stood  busts  carved  or  cast  of  the 
ancestors  of  him  who  lay  dead.  Here,  whilst  voices  of 
lamentation  sounded  from  without,  Leander  made  known  to 
the  prelate  and  the  presbyter  the  terms  of  the  will.  Basil 
was  instituted  '  heir ' ;  that  is  to  say,  he  became  the  legal 
representative  of  the  dead  man,  and  was  charged  with  the 
distribution  of  those  parts  of  the  estate  bequeathed  to  others. 
First  of  the  legatees  stood  Aurelia.  The  listeners  learnt  with 
astonishment  that  the  obstinate  heretic  was  treated  as  though 
her  father  had  had  no  cause  of  complaint  against  her;  she 
was  now  mistress  of  the  Surrentine  estate,  as  well  as  of  the 
great  house  in  Rome,  and  of  other  property.  A  lamentable 
thing,  the  deacon  admitted  suavely ;  but,  for  his  part,  he 
was  not  without  hope,  and  he  fixed  his  eyes  with  a  peculiar 
intensity  on  the  troubled  bishop. 

Petronilla  drew  near.  The  will  was  already  known  to  her 
in  every  detail,  and  she  harboured  a  keen  suspicion  of  the 
secret  which  lay  behind  it.  Leander,  she  could  not  doubt, 
was  behaving  to  her  with  duplicity,  and  this  grieved  her  to  the 
heart.  It  was  to  the  bishop  that  she  now  addressed  herself. 


36  VERANILDA 

'  Holy  father,  I  am  your  suppliant.  Not  even  for  a  day 
will  I  remain  under  this  roof,  even  if — which  is  doubtful — I 
should  be  suffered  to  do  so.  I  put  myself  under  the  protec- 
tion of  your  Holiness,  until  such  time  as  I  can  set  forth  on 
my  sad  journey  to  Rome.  At  Surrentum  I  must  abide  until 
the  corpse  of  my  brother  can  be  conveyed  to  its  final  resting 
place — as  I  promised  him.' 

Much  agitated,  the  prelate  made  answer  that  a  fitting  resi- 
dence should  be  prepared  for  her  before  noon,  and  the 
presbyter  Andreas  added  that  he  would  instantly  betake  him- 
self to  the  city  on  that  business.  Petronilla  thanked  him 
with  the  loftiest  humility.  For  any  lack  of  respect,  or  for 
common  courtesy,  to  which  they  might  be  exposed  ere  they 
quitted  the  villa,  she  besought  their  Sanctities  not  to  hold  her 
responsible,  she  herself  being  now  an  unwilling  intruder  at 
this  hearth,  and  liable  at  any  moment  to  insult.  Uttering 
which  words  in  a  resonant  voice,  she  turned  her  eyes  to  where, 
a  few  yards  away,  stood  Aurelia,  with  Basil  and  Decius 
behind  her. 

'Reverend  bishop,'  spoke  a  voice  not  less  steady  and 
sonorous  than  that  of  the  elder  lady,  '  should  you  suffer  any 
discourtesy  in  my  house,  it  will  come  not  from  me,  but  from 
her  who  suggests  its  possibility,  and  whose  mind  is  bent  upon 
such  things.  Indeed,  she  has  already  scanted  the  respect 
she  owes  you  in  uttering  these  words.  As  for  herself, 
remain  she  here  for  an  hour  or  for  a  month,  she  is  in  no 
danger  of  insult — unless  she  deem  it  an  insult  to  have  her 
base  falsehood  flung  back  at  her,  and  the  enmity  in  her  fierce 
eyes  answered  with  the  scorn  it  merits.' 

Petronilla  trembled  with  wrath. 

'  Falsehood ! '  she  echoed,  on  a  high,  mocking  note.  '  A 
charge  of  falsehood  upon  her  lips  !  Your  Holiness  will  ere 
long,  I  do  not  doubt,  be  enlightened  as  to  that  woman's 
principles  in  the  matter  of  truth  and  falsehood.  Meanwhile, 
we  shall  consult  our  souls'  welfare,  as  well  as  our  dignity,  in 
holding  as  little  intercourse  as  may  be  with  one  who  has 
renounced  the  faith  in  Christ.' 


TO  CUMAE  37 

Aurelia  bent  her  eyes  upon  the  deacon,  who  met  the  look 
with  austere  fixedness.  There  was  dead  silence  for  a  moment, 
then  she  turned  to  the  young  men  behind  her. 

'My  noble  cousins,  I  desired  your  company  because  I  fore- 
saw this  woman's  violence,  and  knew  not  to  what  length  it 
might  carry  her.  She  pretends  to  fear  my  tongue ;  for  my 
part,  I  would  not  lightly  trust  myself  within  reach  of  her 
hands,  of  which  I  learnt  the  weight  when  I  was  a  little  child. 
Lord  Decius,  attend,  I  beg  you,  these  reverend  men  whilst 
they  honour  my  house  and  on  their  way  homeward.  My 
cousin  Basil,  I  must  needs  ask  you  to  be  my  guard,  until  I 
can  command  service  here.  Follow  me,  I  pray.' 

With  another  piercing  glance  at  Leander  she  withdrew 
from  the  assembly. 

It  was  a  morning  of  wind  and  cloud ;  the  day  broke  sadly. 
When  the  first  gleam  of  yellow  sunlight  flitted  over  Surrentum 
towards  the  cliffs  of  Capreae,  silence  had  fallen  upon  the 
villa.  Wearied  by  their  night  of  watching,  the  inhabitants 
slept,  or  at  least  reposed  in  privacy.  But  this  quiet  was  of 
short  duration.  When  the  customary  bell  had  given  notice 
of  the  third  hour,  Aurelia  called  together  the  servants  of 
the  house — only  those  who  belonged  to  Petronilla  failing  to 
answer  her  summons — and  announced  to  them  her  new 
authority.  At  the  same  time  the  steward  of  the  estate  read 
out  a  list  of  those  slaves  who,  under  the  will  of  Maximus, 
could  claim  their  emancipation.  The  gathering  having  dis- 
persed, there  appeared  an  attendant  of  the  deacon  Leander ; 
his  reverend  master  would  wait  upon  the  lady  Aurelia,  as  soon 
as  her  leisure  permitted,  for  the  purpose  of  taking  leave. 
Forthwith  the  deacon  was  admitted.  Alone  in  the  great 
hall,  Aurelia  sat  beside  a  brasier,  at  which  she  warmed  her 
hands;  she  scarcely  deigned  to  glance  at  the  ecclesiastic. 

'You  pursue  your  journey,  reverend?'  were  her  first  words. 

'As  far  as  Neapolis,  gracious  lady,'  came  the  suave  reply. 
'There  or  in  the  neighbourhood  I  shall  remain  at  least  ten 
days.  Should  you  desire  to  communicate  with  me ' 

'I  think   I   can  save  that   trouble,'  interrupted  Aurelia, 


38  VERANILDA 

with  quivering  lips.  'All  I  have  to  say  to  your  Sanctity,  I 
will  say  at  once.  It  is,  that  you  have  enlightened  me  as  to 
the  value  of  solemn  oaths  on  the  lips  of  the  Roman  clergy.' 

*  Your  meaning,  dear  madam  ? '  asked  Leander,  with  a  look 
of  bland  disdain. 

'You  have  the  face  to  ask  it,  deacon,  after  Petronilla's 
words  this  morning? ' 

'  I  feared  they  might  mislead  you.  The  lady  Petronilla  knows 
nothing  of  what  has  passed  between  us.  She  spoke  in  anger, 
and  hazarded  an  accusation — as  angry  ladies  are  wont.' 

'  Of  course  you  say  so,'  returned  Aurelia.  '  I  will  believe 
you  if  you  give  me  back  the  paper  I  signed,  and  trust  to  my 
word  for  the  fulfilment  of  what  I  promised.' 

Leander  smiled,  almost  as  if  he  had  heard  some  happy 
intelligence. 

'  You  ask,'  he  said,  '  for  a  trust  you  yourself  refuse.' 

'  Then  go  your  way,  perjurer ! '  exclaimed  Aurelia,  her 
cheeks  aflame  with  passion.  '  I  know  henceforth  on  whom 
to  rely.' 

For  a  moment  Leander  stood  as  if  reflecting  on  these  last 
words ;  then  he  bowed,  and  with  placid  dignity  retired. 

Meanwhile  Basil  and  Decius  were  conversing  with 
Petronilla.  Neither  of  them  had  ever  stood  on  terms  of 
more  than  courteous  forbearance  with  this  authoritative  lady; 
at  present  they  maintained  their  usual  demeanour,  and  did 
not  think  it  needful  to  apologise  for  friendly  relations  with 
Aurelia.  The  only  subject  on  which  Petronilla  deigned  to 
hold  colloquy  with  them  was  that  of  her  brother's  burial  at 
Rome.  Should  the  transport  be  by  land  or  by  sea  ?  This 
evening  the  corpse  would  be  conveyed  to  the  cathedral  of 
Surrentum,  where  due  rites  would  be  performed  early  on  the 
morrow ;  there  it  would  remain  in  temporary  interment  until 
a  coffin  of  lead  could  be  prepared,  and  arrangements  completed 
for  the  removal.  Was  the  year  too  advanced,  questioned 
Petronilla,  to  allow  of  the  sea  voyage  ?  On  the  other  hand, 
would  the  land  journey  be  safe,  having  regard  to  the  advance 
of  the  Gothic  army?  Basil  pronounced  for  the  sea,  and 


TO  CUMAE  39 

undertook  to  seek  for  a  vessel.  Was  he  willing,  asked 
Petronilla,  to  accompany  the  body  to  Rome  ?  This  question 
gave  Basil  pause ;  he  reflected  uneasily ;  he  hesitated.  Yet 
who  could  discharge  this  duty,  if  he  did  not?  Suddenly 
ashamed  of  his  hesitation,  the  true  reason  of  which  could  not 
be  avowed,  he  declared  that  he  would  make  the  voyage. 

Hereupon  entered  the  deacon,  who,  the  matter  being  put 
before  him,  approved  these  arrangements.  He  himself  would 
doubtless  be  in  Rome  before  the  arrival  of  the  remains  of 
Maximus,  and  all  the  details  of  the  burial  there  might  be  left 
to  him.  So  Petronilla  thanked  and  dismissed  the  young 
men,  on  whose  retirement  she  turned  eagerly  to  Leander. 

'  Forgive  me ! '  broke  from  her  lips.  '  I  know  how  deeply 
I  have  offended  your  Sanctity.  It  was  my  fear  that  you  would 
go  away  without  a  word.  My  haste,  my  vehemence,  merited 
even  that  punishment.' 

'  Calm  yourself,  noble  lady,'  returned  the  deacon.  '  I  was 
indeed  grieved,  but  I  know  your  provocation.  We  may 
speak  on  this  subject  again ;  but  not  here.  For  the  present, 
I  take  my  leave  of  you,  all  being  ready  for  my  departure. 
As  you  are  quitting  this  house  at  once,  you  need  no  counsel 
as  to  immediate  difficulties ;  I  will  only  say,  in  all  things  be 
prudent,  be  self-controlled  ;  before  long,  you  may  see  reason 
for  the  discreet  silence  which  I  urge  upon  you.' 

1  When  do  you  set  forth  to  Rome  ? '  asked  Petronilla.  '  If 
it  might  be  my  privilege  to  journey  in  your  company ? ' 

'The  day  is  uncertain,'  replied  Leander;  'but  if  it  be 
possible  for  us  to  travel  together,  trust  me  to  beg  for  the 
honour.  You  shall  hear  of  my  projects  in  a  week's  time  from 
Neapolis.' 

Petronilla  fell  to  her  knees,  and  again  besought  his  for- 
giveness with  his  benediction.  The  deacon  magnanimously 
granted  both,  and  whilst  bending  over  the  devout  lady, 
whispered  one  word : 

'  Patience ! ' 

An  hour  after  mid-day,  Petronilla  quitted  the  villa.  Her 
great  travelling  chariot,  drawn  by  four  mules,  wherein  she 


40  VERANILDA 

and  her  most  precious  possessions  were  conveyed,  descended 
at  a  stately  pace  the  winding  road  to  Surrentum.  Before  it 
rode  Basil ;  behind  came  a  laden  wagon,  two  light  vehicles 
carrying  female  slaves,  and  mounted  men-servants,  armed  as 
though  for  a  long  and  perilous  journey.  Since  the  encounter 
before  sunrise,  there  had  been  no  meeting  between  the 
hostile  ladies.  Aurelia  signified  her  scorn  by  paying  no 
heed  to  her  aunt's  departure. 

Alone  in  her  dominion,  the  inheritress  entered  the  death- 
chamber,  and  there  passed  an  hour  upon  her  knees.  Whilst 
she  was  thus  secluded,  a  pealing  storm  traversed  the  sky. 
When  Aurelia  came  forth  again,  her  face  was  wan,  tear- 
stained.  She  summoned  her  nurse,  and  held  much  talk  with 
her  as  to  the  significance  of  thunder  whilst  a  corpse  lay  in 
the  house.  The  good  woman,  though  she  durst  not  utter  all 
her  thoughts,  babbled  concern,  and  used  the  occasion  to 
beseech  Aurelia — as  she  had  often  done  since  the  death 
of  her  Gothic  lord — to  be  reconciled  with  the  true  church. 

'  True  church ! '  exclaimed  Aurelia,  with  sudden  passion. 
4  How  do  you  know  which  is  the  true  church  ?  Have  not 
emperors,  have  not  bishops  and  numberless  holy  men  lived 
and  died  in  the  faith  I  confess ?  ' 

She  checked  herself,  grew  silent,  brooded.  Meanwhile, 
the  old  nurse  talked  on,  and  presently  began  to  relate  how  a 
handmaid  of  Petronilla,  in  going  with  her  this  morning,  pro- 
fessed to  know  on  the  surest  evidence  that  Aurelia,  by  her 
father's  deathbed,  had  renounced  Arianism.  The  sullen 
countenance  of  her  mistress  flashed  again  into  wrath. 

'Did  I  not  forbid  you,'  cried  Aurelia,  'to  converse  with 
those  women  ?  And  you  dare  repeat  to  me  their  loose-lipped 
chatter.  I  am  too  familiar  with  you ;  go  and  talk  with  your 
kind ;  go ! ' 

Mutteringly  the  woman  went  apart.  The  mistress,  alone, 
fell  into  a  lony  weeping.  When  she  had  sobbed  herself  into 
quiet  once  more  she  sought  a  volume  of  the  Gospels,  in- 
serted her  forefinger  between  the  pages  at  random,  and 
anxiously  regarded  the  passage  thus  chosen. 


TO  CUMAE  41 

1  While  ye  have  the  light,  beliere  in  the  light,  that  ye  may 
be  the  children  of  light.' 

She  brooded,  but  in  the  end  seemed  to  find  solace. 

Basil  was  absent  all  day.  On  his  return,  just  before 
sunset,  Aurelia  met  him  in  the  atrium,  heard  the  report  of 
what  he  had  done,  and  at  length  asked  whether,  on  the  day 
after  to-morrow,  he  could  go  to  Cumae. 

'  To  Cumae  ? '  exclaimed  Basil.  '  Ay,  that  I  can !  You 
are  returning  thither  ? ' 

'For  a  day  only.  I  go  to  seek  that  which  no  one  but 
myself  can  find.' 

The  listener  had  no  difficulty  in  understanding  this;  it 
meant,  of  course,  treasure  concealed  in  the  house  Aurelia 
had  long  inhabited. 

'We  must  both  go  and  return  by  sea,'  said  Aurelia,  'even 
though  it  cause  us  delay.  I  have  no  mind  to  pass  through 
Neapolis.' 

'Be  it  so.  The  sky  will  be  calm  when  this  storm  has 
passed.  Shall  you  return,'  said  Basil,  '  alone  ? ' 

'  Alone  ?     Do  you  purpose  to  forsake  me  ? ' 

'  Think  better  of  my  manners,  cousin — and  more  shrewdly 
of  my  meaning.' 

'You  mean  fairly,  I  trust?'  she  returned,  looking  him 
steadily  in  the  face. 

'Nay,'  cried  the  young  man  vehemently,  'if  I  have  any 
thought  other  than  honest,  may  I  perish  before  I  ever  again 
behold  her ! ' 

Aurelia's  gaze  softened. 

'It  is  well,'  she  said  ;  'we  will  speak  again  to-morrow.' 

That  night  Petronilla  kept  vigil  in  the  church  of  Surrentum, 
Basil  and  Decius  relieving  her  an  hour  before  dawn.  At  the 
funeral  service,  which  began  soon  after  sunrise,  the  greater 
part  of  the  townsfolk  attended.  All  were  eager  to  see 
whether  the  daughter  of  Maximus  would  be  present,  for  many 
rumours  were  rife  touching  Aurelia,  some  declaring  that  she 
had  returned  to  the  true  faith,  some  that  she  remained 
obstinate  in  heresy.  Her  failure  to  appear  did  not  set  the 


42  VERANILDA 

debate  at  rest.  A  servant  of  Petronilla  whispered  it  about  that 
only  by  a  false  pretence  of  conversion  had  Aurelia  made  sure 
her  inheritance;  and  at  the  mere  thought  of  such  wickedness 
the  hearers  shuddered,  foretelling  a  dread  retribution.  The 
clergy  were  mute  on  the  subject,  even  with  the  most  favoured 
of  their  flock.  Meanwhile  the  piety  and  austerity  of  Petron- 
illa made  a  safe  topic  of  talk,  and  a  long  procession  reverently 
escorted  her  to  her  temporary  abode  near  the  bishop's  house. 

To-day  the  clouds  spent  themselves  in  rain ;  before  night- 
fall the  heavens  began  to  clear.  The  island  peak  of  Inarime 
stood  purple  against  a  crimson  sunset.  After  supper,  Aurelia 
and  Basil  held  conference.  The  wind  would  not  be  favour- 
able for  their  voyage ;  none  the  less,  they  decided  to  start  at 
the  earliest  possible  hour.  Dawn  was  but  just  streaking  the 
sky,  when  they  rode  down  the  dark  gorge  which  led  to  the 
shore,  Basil  attended  by  Felix,  the  lady  by  one  maid.  The 
bark  awaited  them,  swaying  gently  against  the  harbour-side. 
Aurelia  descended  to  the  little  cabin  curtained  off  below  a 
half-deck,  and — sails  as  yet  being  useless — four  great  oars 
urged  the  craft  on  its  way. 

What  little  wind  there  was  breathed  from  the  north.  For 
an  hour  they  made  but  slow  progress,  but  when  the  first  rays 
of  sun  gleamed  above  the  mountains,  the  breeze  shifted 
westward;  sails  were  presently  hoisted,  and  the  rippling 
water  hissed  before  the  prow.  Soon  a  golden  day  shone 
upon  sea  and  land.  Aurelia  carne  forth  on  to  the  deck,  and 
sat  gazing  towards  Neapolis. 

'  You  know  that  the  deacon  is  yonder,'  she  said  in  a  low 
voice  to  Basil,  this  the  first  mention  of  Leander  that  had  fallen 
from  her  lips  in  speaking  with  him. 

'Is  he?'  returned  the  other  carelessly.  'Yes,  I  re- 
member. 

But  Basil's  eyes  were  turned  to  the  long  promontory  of 
Misenum.  He  was  wondering  anxiously  how  his  letter  had 
affected  Veranilda,  and  whether,  when  she  heard  of  it,  Aurelia 
would  be  angered. 

'  Where  is  your  friend  Marcian  ? '  were  her  next  words. 


TO  CUMAE  43 

Basil  replied  that  he,  too,  was  sojourning  at  Neapolis ;  and, 
when  Aurelia  inquired  what  business  held  him  there,  her 
cousin  answered  truly  that  he  did  not  know. 

'  Do  you  trust  him  ? '  asked  the  lady,  after  a  thoughtful 
pause. 

'  Marcian ?    As  I  trust  myself! ' 

One  of  the  boatmen  coming  within  earshot,  their  conversa- 
tion ceased. 

The  hour  before  noon  saw  them  drawing  near  to  land.  They 
left  on  the  right  the  little  island  of  Nesis,  and  drew  towards 
Puteoli.  On  the  left  lay  Baiae,  all  but  forsaken,  its  ancient 
temples  and  villas  stretching  along  the  shore  from  the 
Lucrine  lake  to  the  harbour  shadowed  by  Cape  Misenum ; 
desolate  magnificence,  marble  overgrown  with  ivy,  gardens 
where  the  rose  grew  wild,  and  terraces  crumbling  into  the  sea. 
Basil  and  Aurelia  looked  upon  these  things  with  an  eye  made 
careless  by  familiarity;  all  their  lives  ruin  had  lain  about 
them,  deserted  sanctuaries  of  a  bygone  creed,  unpeopled 
homes  of  a  vanished  greatness. 

As  the  boat  advanced  into  the  bay,  it  lost  the  wind,  and 
rowing  again  became  needful.  Thus  they  entered  the  harbour 
of  Puteoli,  where  the  travellers  disembarked. 

Hard  by  the  port  was  a  tavern,  which,  owing  to  its  position 
midway  between  Neapolis  and  Cumae,  still  retained  something 
of  its  character  as  a  mansio  of  the  posting  service ;  but  the 
vehicles  and  quadrupeds  of  which  it  boasted  were  no  longer 
held  in  strict  reserve  for  state  officials  and  persons  privileged. 
Gladly  the  innkeeper  put  at  Basil's  disposal  his  one  covered 
carriage,  a  trifle  cleaner  inside  than  it  was  without,  and  a 
couple  of  saddle  horses,  declared  to  be  Sicilian,  but  advanced 
in  age.  Thus,  with  slight  delay,  the  party  pursued  their 
journey,  Basil  and  his  man  riding  before  the  carriage.  The 
road  ran  coastwise  as  far  as  the  Julian  haven,  once  thronged 
with  the  shipping  of  the  Roman  world,  now  all  but  abandoned 
to  a  few  fishermen ;  there  it  turned  inland,  skirted  the  Lucrine 
water,  and  presently  reached  the  shore  of  Lake  Avernus, 
where  was  the  entrance  to  the  long  tunnel  piercing  the  hill 


44  VERANILDA 

between  the  lake  and  Cumae.  On  an  ill-kept  way,  under  a 
low  vault  of  rock  dripping  moisture,  the  carriage  with  difficulty 
tossed  and  rumbled  through  the  gloom.  Basil  impatiently 
trotted  on,  and,  as  he  issued  into  sunlight,  there  before  him 
stood  the  walls  of  the  ancient  city,  round  about  that  little  hill 
by  the  sea  which,  in  an  age  remote,  had  been  chosen  for  their 
abode  by  the  first  Hellenes  tempted  to  the  land  of  Italy.  High 
above  rose  the  acropolis,  a  frowning  stronghold.  Through 
Basil's  mind  passed  the  thought  that  ere  long  Cumae  might 
again  belong  to  the  Goths,  and  this  caused  him  no  uneasiness; 
half,  perchance,  he  hoped  it. 

A  guard  at  the  city  gate  inspected  the  carriage,  and  let  it 
pass  on.  In  a  few  minutes,  guided  by  Basil,  it  drew  up 
before  a  house  in  a  narrow,  climbing  street,  a  small  house, 
brick  fronted,  with  stucco  pilasters  painted  red  at  the  door, 
and  two  windows,  closed  with  wooden  shutters,  in  the  upper 
storey.  On  one  side  of  the  entrance  stood  a  shop  for  the 
sale  of  earthenware ;  on  the  other,  a  vintner's  with  a  project- 
ing marble  table,  the  jars  of  wine  thereon  exhibited  being 
attached  by  chains  to  rings  in  the  wall.  Odours  of  cookery, 
and  of  worse  things,  oppressed  the  air,  and  down  the  street 
ran  a  noisome  gutter.  When  Basil's  servant  had  knocked,  a 
little  wicket  slipped  aside  for  observation ;  then,  after  a  grind- 
ing of  heavy  locks  and  bars,  the  double  doors  were  opened, 
and  a  grey-headed  slave  stepped  forward  to  receive  his 
mistress.  Basil  had  jumped  down  from  his  horse,  and  would 
fain  have  entered,  but,  by  an  arrangement  already  made,  this 
was  forbidden.  Saying  that  she  would  expect  him  at  the 
second  hour  on  the  morrow,  Aurelia  disappeared.  Her 
cousin  after  a  longing  look  at  the  blind  and  mute  house, 
rode  away  to  another  quarter  of  the  city,  near  the  harbour, 
where  was  an  inn  at  which  he  had  lodged  during  his  previous 
visit.  In  a  poor  and  dirty  room,  he  made  shift  to  dine  on 
such  food  as  could  be  offered  him;  then  lay  down  on  the 
truckle  bed,  and  slept  for  an  hour  or  two. 

A  knock  at  the  door  awoke  him.  It  was  Felix,  who 
brought  the  news  that  Marcian  was  at  Cumae. 


TO  CUMAE  45 

'You  have  seen  him ? '  cried  Basil,  astonished  and  eager. 

'  His  servant  Sagaris,'  Felix  replied.  '  I  met  him  but  now 
in  the  forum,  and  learnt  that  his  lord  lodges  at  the  house  of 
the  curial  Venustus,  hard  by  the  Temple  of  Diana.' 

'  Go  thither  at  once,  and  beg  him,  if  his  leisure  serve, 
to  come  to  me.  I  would  go  myself,  but,  if  he  have  seen 
Sagaris,  he  may  be  already  on  the  way  here.' 

And  so  it  proved,  for  in  a  very  few  minutes  Marcian 
himself  entered  the  room. 

'Your  uncle  is  dead,'  were  his  first  words.  'I  heard  it  in 
Neapolis  yesterday.  What  brings  you  here  ? ' 

'Nay,  best  Marcian,'  returned  the  other,  with  hands  on  his 
friend's  shoulders,  and  peering  him  in  the  face,  'let  me  once 
again  put  that  question  to  you.' 

'I  cannot  answer  it,  yet,'  said  Marcian  gravely.  'Your 
business  is  more  easily  guessed.' 

'  But  must  not  be  talked  of  here,'  interrupted  Basil,  glancing 
at  the  door.  '  Let  us  find  some  more  suitable  place.' 

They  descended  the  dark,  foul  stairs,  and  went  out  together. 
Before  the  house  stood  the  two  serving-men,  who,  as  their 
masters  walked  away,  followed  at  a  respectful  distance. 
When  safe  from  being  overheard,  Basil  recounted  to  his 
friend  the  course  of  events  at  the  Surrentine  villa  since 
Marcian's  departure,  made  known  his  suspicion  that  Aurelia 
had  secretly  returned  to  the  Catholic  faith.  He  then  told  of 
to-day's  journey  and  its  purpose,  his  hearer  wearing  a  look 
of  grave  attention. 

'Can  it  be,'  asked  Marcian,  'that  you  think  of  wedding 
this  Gothic  beauty  ? ' 

'Assuredly,'  answered  Basil,  with  a  laugh,  'I  have  thought 
of  it.' 

'  And  it  looks  as  though  Aurelia  favoured  your  desire.' 

1  It  has  indeed  something  of  that  appearance.' 

'Pray  you  now,  dear  lord,'  said  Marcian,  'be  sober  awhile. 
Have  you  reflected  that,  with  such  a  wife,  you  would  not  dare 
return  to  Rome?' 

Basil  had  not  regarded  that  aspect  of  the  matter,  but  his 


46  VERANILDA 

friend's  reasoning  soon  brought  him  to  perceive  the  danger  he 
would  lightly  have  incurred.  Dangers,  not  merely  those  that 
resulted  from  the  war ;  could  he  suppose,  asked  Marcian,  that 
Heliodora  would  meekly  endure  his  disdain,  and  that  the  life  of 
Veranilda  would  be  safe  in  such  a  rival's  proximity  ?  Hereat, 
Basil  gnashed  his  teeth  and  handled  his  dagger.  Why  return 
to  Rome  at  all?  he  cried  impatiently.  He  had  no  mind 
to  go  through  the  torments  of  a  long  siege  such  as  again 
threatened.  Why  should  he  not  live  on  in  Campania 

'  And  tend  your  sheep  or  your  goats  ? '  interrupted  Marcian, 
with  his  familiar  note  of  sad  irony.  'And  pipe  sub  tegminc 
fagi  to  your  blue-eyed  Amaryllis?  Why  not,  indeed?  But 
what  if,  on  learning  the  death  of  Maximus,  the  Thracian  who 
rules  yonder  see  fit  to  command  your  instant  return,  and  to 
exact  from  you  an  account  of  what  you  have  inherited? 
Bessas  loses  no  time — suspecting — perhaps — that  his  tenure 
of  a  fruitful  office  may  not  be  long.' 

'  And  if  the  suspicion  be  just  ? '  said  Basil,  gazing  hard  at 
his  friend. 

'  Well,  if  it  be  ? '  said  the  other,  returning  the  look. 

'  Should  we  not  do  well  to  hold  far  from  Rome,  looking  to 
King  Totila,  whom  men  praise,  as  a  deliverer  of  our  land 
from  hateful  tyranny  ? ' 

Marcian  laid  a  hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder. 

'  O,  brave  Basil ! '  he  murmured,  with  a  smile.  '  O, 
nobly  confident  in  those  you  love !  Never  did  man  so  merit 
love  in  return. — Do  as  you  will.  In  a  few  days  I  shall  again 
visit  you  at  Surrentum,  and  perchance  bring  news  that  may 
give  us  matter  for  talk.' 

From  a  portico  hard  by  there  approached  a  beggar,  a  filthy 
and  hideous  cripple,  who,  with  whining  prayer,  besought 
alms.  Marcian  from  his  wallet  took  a  copper  coin,  and 
having  glanced  at  it,  drew  Basil's  attention. 

'Look,' said  he,  smiling  oddly,  'at  the  image  and  the  super- 
scription.' 

It  was  a  coin  of  Vitiges,  showing  a  helmeted  bust  of  the 
goddess  of  the  city,  with  legend  '  Invicta  Roma? 


TO  CUMAE  47 

'  Invicta  Roma?  muttered  Basil  sadly,  with  head  bent. 

Meanwhile,  out  of  earshot  of  their  masters,  the  two  servants 
conversed  with  not  less  intimacy.  At  a  glance  these  men 
were  seen  to  be  of  different  races.  Felix,  aged  some  five  and 
thirty,  could  boast  of  free  birth ;  he  was  the  son  of  a  curial — 
that  is  to  say,  municipal  councillor — of  Arpinum,  who  had 
been  brought  to  ruin,  like  so  many  of  his  class  in  this  age,  by 
fiscal  burdens,  the  curiales  being  responsible  for  the  taxes 
payable  by  their  colleagues,  as  well  as  for  the  dues  on  any 
estate  in  their  district  which  might  be  abandoned,  and,  in 
brief,  for  whatsoever  deficiencies  of  local  revenue.  Gravity 
and  sincerity  appeared  in  his  countenance ;  he  seldom  smiled, 
spoke  in  a  subdued  voice,  and  often  kept  his  eyes  on  the 
ground ;  but  his  service  was  performed  with  rare  conscien- 
tiousness, and  he  had  often  given  proof  of  affection  for  his 
master.  Sagaris,  a  Syrian  slave,  less  than  thirty  years  old, 
had  a  comely  visage  which  ever  seemed  to  shine  with  con- 
tentment, and  often  twinkled  with  a  sort  of  roguish  mirth. 
Tall  and  of  graceful  bearing,  the  man's  every  movement 
betrayed  personal  vanity ;  his  speech  had  the  note  of  facile 
obsequiousness;  he  talked  whenever  occasion  offered,  and 
was  fond  of  airing  his  views  on  political  and  other  high 
matters.  Therewithal,  he  was  the  most  superstitious  of 
mortals ;  wore  amulets,  phylacteries,  charms  of  all  sorts,  and 
secretly  prayed  to  many  strange  gods.  When  he  had  nothing 
else  to  do,  and  could  find  a  genial  companion,  his  delight 
was  to  play  by  the  hour  at  micare  digitis ;  but,  in  spite  of  his 
roaster's  good  opinion,  not  to  Sagaris  would  have  applied  the 
proverb  that  you  might  play  that  game  with  him  in  the  dark. 

'  Take  my  word  for  it,'  he  whispered  to  Felix,  with  his  most 
important  air,  'we  shall  see  strange  things  ere  long.  Last 
night  I  counted  seven  shooting  stars.' 

1  What  does  that  argue  ? '  asked  the  other  soberly. 

'More  than  I  care  to  put  into  Latin.  At  Capua,  three 
days  ago,  a  woman  gave  birth  to  a  serpent,  a  winged  dragon, 
which  flew  away  towards  Rome.  I  talked  at  Neapolis  with  a 
man  who  saw  it.' 


48  VERANILDA 

'Strange,  indeed,'  murmured  Felix,  with  raised  eyebrows. 
'  I  have  often  heard  of  such  portents,  but  never  had  the  luck 
to  behold  one  of  them.  Yet/  he  added  gravely,  '  I  have 
received  a  sign.  When  my  father  died,  I  was  far  away  from 
him,  and  at  that  very  hour,  as  I  prayed  in  the  church  of  Holy 
Clement  at  Rome,  I  heard  a  voice  that  said  in  my  ear, 
Vale!  three  times.' 

'Oh,  I  have  had  signs  far  more  wonderful  than  that,' 
exclaimed  the  Syrian.  '  I  was  at  sea,  between  Alexandria 
and  Berytus — for  you  must  know  that  in  my  boyhood  I 
passed  three  years  at  Berytus,  and  there  obtained  that  know- 
ledge of  law  which  you  may  have  remarked  in  talking  with 
me — well,  I  was  at  sea ' 

'Peace!'  interposed  Felix.     'We  are  summoned.' 

Sagaris  sighed,  and  became  the  obsequious  attendant. 


CHAPTER  V 

BASIL  AND  VERANILDA 

AT  the  appointed  hour  next  morning,  when  yet  no  ray  of 
sunshine  had  touched  the  gloomy  little  street,  though  a  limpid 
sky  shone  over  it,  Basil  stood  at  Aurelia's  door.  The  grey- 
headed porter  silently  admitted  him,  and  he  passed  by  a 
narrow  corridor  into  a  hall  lighted  as  usual  from  above,  paved 
with  red  tiles,  here  and  there  trodden  away,  the  walls  coloured 
a  dusky  yellow,  and  showing  an  imaginary  line  of  pillars 
painted  in  blue.  A  tripod  table,  a  couch,  and  a  few  chairs 
were  the  only  furniture.  When  the  visitor  had  waited  for  a 
few  moments  a  curtain  concealing  the  entrance  to  the  inner 
part  of  the  house  moved  aside,  and  Aurelia's  voice  bade  her 
cousin  come  forward.  He  entered  a  smaller  room  opening 
upon  a  diminutive  court  where  a  few  shrubs  grew ;  around 
the  walls  hung  old  and  faded  tapestry ;  the  floor  was  of 
crude  mosaic;  the  furniture  resembled  that  of  the  atrium, 
with  the  addition  of  a  brasier. 

1 1  have  been  anxious  for  your  coming,'  were  Aurelia's  first 
words.  '  Do  you  think  they  will  let  us  depart  without  hind- 
rance ?  Yesterday  I  saw  the  owner  of  this  house  to  transact 
my  business  with  him.  It  is  Venustus,  a  curial,  a  man  who 
has  always  been  well  disposed  to  me.  He  said  that  he  must 
perforce  make  known  to  the  governor  my  intention  of  leaving 
the  city,  and  hoped  no  obstacle  would  be  put  in  our  way. 
This  morning,  before  sunrise,  a  messenger  from  the  citadel 
came  and  put  questions  to  the  porter.' 

Basil  knitted  his  brows. 

D 


50  VERANILDA 

'Venustus?  It  is  with  Venustus  that  Marcian  lodges. 
Yes,  Marcian  is  here;  I  know  not  on  what  business.  It 
would  have  been  wiser,'  he  added,  '  to  have  said  nothing,  to 
have  gone  away  as  before.  When  shall  you  be  ready  ? ' 

'  I  am  ready  now.  Why  delay  ?  What  matter  though  we 
reach  Surrentum  by  night  ?  The  moon  rises  early.' 

'  What  reply  was  given  to  the  messenger  from  the  citadel  ? ' 
'  He  learned,  perforce,  that  we  were  preparing  for  a  journey.' 
A  moment's  reflection  and  Basil  decided  to  risk  immediate 
departure ;  delay  and  uncertainty  were  at  all  times  hateful  to 
him,  and  at  the  present  juncture  intolerable.  At  once  he 
quitted  the  house  (not  having  ventured  to  speak  the  name  of 
Veranilda),  and  in  an  hour's  time  the  covered  carriage  from 
Puteoli,  and  another  vehicle,  were  in  waiting.  The  baggage 
was  brought  out ;  then,  as  Basil  stood  in  the  hall,  he  saw  Aurelia 
come  forward,  accompanied  by  a  slight  female  figure,  whose 
grace  could  not  be  disguised  by  the  long  hooded  cloak  which 
wrapped  it  from  head  to  foot,  allowing  not  a  glimpse  of  face. 
The  young  man  trembled,  and  followed.  He  saw  the  ladies 
step  into  the  carriage,  and  was  himself  about  to  mount  his 
horse,  when  a  military  officer,  attended  by  three  soldiers, 
stepped  towards  him,  and,  without  phrase  of  courtesy,  de- 
manded his  name.  Pallid,  shaken  with  all  manner  of 
emotions,  Basil  replied  to  this  and  several  other  inquiries,  the 
result  being  that  the  two  vehicles  were  ordered  to  be  driven 
to  the  citadel,  and  he  to  go  thither  under  guard. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  citadel  the  carriage  drew  up  and 
remained  there  under  guard.  Basil  was  led  in,  and  presently 
stood  before  the  military  governor  of  Cumae ;  this  was  a  Hun 
named  Chorsoman,  formerly  one  of  Belisarius's  bodyguard. 
He  spoke  Latin  barbarously ;  none  the  less  was  his  language 
direct  and  perspicuous.  The  Roman  lady  wished  to  quit 
Cumae,  where  she  had  lived  for  some  years ;  she  purposed, 
moreover,  to  take  away  with  her  a  maiden  of  Gothic  race, 
who,  though  not  treated  as  a  captive,  had  been  under  observa- 
tion fince  she  was  sent  to  dwell  here  by  Belisarius.  This 
could  not  pass  as  a  matter  of  small  moment.  Plainly,  per- 


BASIL  AND  VERANILDA          51 

mission  to  depart  must  be  sought  of  the  authorities,  and 
such  permission,  under  the  circumstances,  could  only  be 
granted  in  return  for  substantial  payment — a  payment  in 
proportion  to  the  lady's  rank.  It  was  known  that  the  senator 
Maximus  had  died,  and  report  said  that  his  daughter  inherited 
great  wealth.  The  price  of  her  passport  would  be  one 
thousand  gold  pieces. 

Basil  knew  that  Aurelia  had  not,  in  the  coffer  she  was  taking 
away,  a  quarter  of  this  sum  of  money.  He  foresaw  endless  delay, 
infinite  peril  to  his  hopes.  Schooling  a  hot  tongue  to  sub- 
missive utterance,  he  asked  that  Aurelia  might  be  consulted. 

'  Speak  with  her  yourself,'  said  the  Hun,  '  and  bring  her 
answer.' 

So  Basil  went  forth,  and,  under  the  eyes  of  the  guard,  held 
converse  with  his  cousin.  Aurelia  was  willing  to  give  all  the 
treasure  she  carried  with  her — money,  a  few  ornaments  of 
gold  and  silver,  two  or  three  vessels  of  precious  metal — 
everything  for  immediate  liberty ;  all  together  she  thought  it 
might  be  the  equivalent  of  half  the  sum  demanded.  The 
rest  she  would  swear  to  pay.  This  being  reported  to  Chorso- 
man,  his  hideous,  ashen-grey  countenance  assumed  a  fierce 
expression;  he  commanded  that  all  the  baggage  on  the 
vehicles  should  be  brought  and  opened  before  him ;  this  was 
done.  Whilst  Basil,  boiling  with  secret  rage,  saw  his  cousin's 
possessions  turned  out  on  to  the  floor  a  thought  flashed  into 
his  mind. 

*  I  ought  to  inform  your  Sublimity,'  he  said,  with  all  the 
indifference  he  could  assume,  'that  the  lady  Aurelia  de- 
spatched two  days  ago  a  courier  to  Rome  apprising  the  noble 
commandant  Bessas  of  her  father's  death,  and  of  her  inten- 
tion to  arrive  in  the  city  as  soon  as  possible,  and  to  put  her 
means  at  his  disposal  for  the  defence  of  Rome  against  King 
Totila.' 

Chorsoman  stared. 

1  Is  not  this  lady  the  widow  of  a  Goth  and  a  heretic  ?' 

'The  widow  of  a  Goth,  yes,  but  no  longer  a  heretic,' 
answered  Basil  boldly,  half  believing  what  he  said. 


5*  VERANILDA 

He  saw  that  he  had  spoken  to  some  purpose.  The  Hun 
blinked  his  little  eyes,  gazed  greedily  at  the  money,  and  was 
about  to  speak  when  a  soldier  announced  that  a  Roman 
named  Marcian  desired  immediate  audience,  therewith 
handing  to  the  governor  a  piece  of  metal  which  looked  like 
a  large  coin.  Chorsoman  had  no  sooner  glanced  at  this  than 
he  bade  admit  the  Roman;  but  immediately  changing  his 
mind,  he  went  out  into  another  room.  On  his  return,  after 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  he  gruffly  announced  that  the  travellers 
were  free  to  depart. 

*  We  humbly  thank  your  Clemency,'  said  Basil,  his  heart 
leaping  in  joy.  '  Does  your  Greatness  permit  me  to  order 
these  trifles  to  be  removed  ? ' 

'Except  the  money,'  replied  Chorsoman,  growling  next 
moment,  'and  the  vessels';  then  snarling  with  a  savage 
glance  about  him,  'and  the  jewels.' 

Not  till  the  gates  of  Cumae  were  behind  them,  and  they 
had  entered  the  cavern  in  the  hill,  did  Basil  venture  to 
recount  what  had  happened.  He  alighted  from  his  horse, 
and  walking  through  the  gloom  beside  the  carriage  he  briefly 
narrated  all  in  a  whisper  to  Aurelia — all  except  his  own 
ingenious  device  for  balking  the  Hun's  cupidity.  What  means 
Marcian  had  employed  for  their  release  he  could  but  vaguely 
conjecture;  that  would  be  learned  a  few  days  hence  when 
his  friend  came  again  to  Surrentum.  Aurelia's  companion  in 
the  carriage,  still  hooded  and  cloaked,  neither  moved  nor 
uttered  a  word. 

At  a  distance  of  some  twenty  yards  from  the  end  of  the 
tunnel,  Felix,  riding  in  advance,  checked  his  horse  and 
shouted.  There  on  the  ground  lay  a  dead  man,  a  country- 
man, who  it  was  easy  to  see  had  been  stabbed  to  death,  and 
perhaps  not  more  than  an  hour  ago.  Quarrel  or  robbery, 
who  could  say?  An  incident  not  so  uncommon  as  greatly  to 
perturb  the  travellers ;  they  passed  on  and  came  to  Puteoli. 
Here  the  waiting  boatmen  were  soon  found;  the  party 
embarked ,  the  vessel  oared  away  in  a  dead  calm. 

The  long  voyage  was  tedious  to  Basil  only  because  Veran- 


BASIL  AND  VERANILDA          53 

ilda  remained  unseen  in  the  cabin ;  the  thought  of  bearing 
her  off,  as  though  she  were  already  his  own,  was  an  exultation, 
a  rapture.  When  he  reflected  on  the  indignities  he  had 
suffered  in  the  citadel  rage  burned  his  throat,  and  Aurelia, 
all  bitterness  at  the  loss  of  her  treasure,  found  words  to 
increase  this  wrath.  A  Hun !  A  Scythian  savage !  A 
descendant  perchance  of  the  fearful  Attila !  He  to  represent 
the  Roman  Empire !  Fit  instrument,  forsooth,  of  such  an 
Emperor  as  Justinian,  whose  boundless  avarice,  whose 
shameful  subjection  to  the  base-born  Theodora,  were  known 
to  every  one.  To  this  had  Rome  fallen ;  and  not  one  of  her 
sons  who  dared  to  rise  against  so  foul  a  servitude  ! 

'  Have  patience,  cousin,'  Basil  whispered,  bidding  her  with 
a  glance  beware  of  the  nearest  boatman.  '  There  are  some 
who  will  not  grieve  if  Totila ' 

'  No  more  than  that  ?  To  stand,  and  look  on,  and  play 
the  courtier  to  whichever  may  triumph  ! ' 

Basil  muttered  with  himself.  He  wished  he  had  been  bred 
a  soldier  instead  of  growing  to  manhood  in  an  age  when 
the  nobles  of  Rome  were  held  to  inglorious  peace,  their 
sole  career  that  of  the  jurist.  And  Aurelia,  brooding,  saw 
him  involved  beyond  recall  in  her  schemes  of  vengeance. 

The  purple  evening  fell  about  them,  an  afterglow  of  sunset 
trembling  upon  the  violet  sea.  Above  the  heights  of  Capreae 
a  star  began  to  glimmer;  and  lo,  yonder  from  behind  the 
mountains  rose  the  great  orb  of  the  moon.  They  were  in 
the  harbour  at  last,  but  had  to  wait  on  board  until  a  messenger 
could  go  to  the  village  and  a  conveyance  arrive.  The  litter 
came,  with  a  horse  for  Basil ;  Felix,  together  with  Aurelia's 
grey-headed  porter  and  a  female  slave — these  two  the  only 
servants  that  had  remained  in  the  house  at  Cumae — 
followed  on  foot,  and  the  baggage  was  carried  up  on  men's 
shoulders. 

'  Decius  ! '  cried  Basil,  in  a  passionate  undertone,  when  he 
encountered  his  kinsman  in  the  vestibule.  *  Decius !  we  are 
here — and  one  with  us  whom  you  know  not.  Hush!  Stifle 
your  curiosity  till  to-morrow.  Let  them  pass,' 


54  VERANILDA 

So  had  the  day  gone  by,  and  not  once  had  he  looked  upon 
the  face  of  Veranilda. 

He  saw  her  early  on  the  morrow.  Aurelia,  though  the 
whole  villa  was  now  at  her  command,  chose  still  to  inhabit 
the  house  of  Proba;  and  thither,  when  the  day  was  yet 
young,  she  summoned  Basil.  The  room  in  which  she  sat 
was  hung  with  pictured  tapestry,  representing  Christ  and  the 
Apostles;  crude  work,  but  such  as  had  pleased  Faltonia 
Proba,  whose  pious  muse  inspired  her  to  utter  the  Gospel  in 
a  Virgilian  canto.  And  at  Aurelia's  side,  bending  over  a  piece 
of  delicate  needlework,  sat  the  Gothic  maiden,  clad  in  white, 
her  flaxen  hair,  loosely  held  with  silk,  falling  behind  her 
shoulders,  shadowing  her  forehead,  and  half  hiding  the  little 
ears.  At  Basil's  entrance  she  did  not  look  up ;  at  the  first 
sound  of  his  voice  she  bent  her  head  yet  lower,  and  only 
when  he  directly  addressed  her,  asking,  with  all  the  gentle- 
ness his  lips  could  command,  whether  the  journey  had  left 
much  fatigue,  did  she  show  for  a  moment  her  watchet  eyes, 
answering  few  words  with  rare  sweetness. 

'Be  seated,  dear  my  lord,'  said  his  cousin,  in  the  soft, 
womanly  voice  once  her  habitual  utterance.  'There  has 
been  so  little  opportunity  of  free  conversation,  that  we  have 
almost,  one  might  say,  to  make  each  other's  acquaintance 
yet.  But  I  hope  we  may  now  enjoy  a  little  leisure,  and  live 
as  becomes  good  kinsfolk.' 

Basil  made  such  suitable  answer  as  his  agitation  allowed. 

1  And  the  noble  Decius,'  pursued  Aurelia,  '  will,  I  trust, 
bestow  at  times  a  little  of  his  leisure  upon  us.  Perhaps  this 
afternoon  you  could  persuade  him  to  forget  his  books  for 
half  an  hour?  But  let  us  speak,  to  begin  with,  of  sad  things 
which  must  needs  occupy  us.  Is  it  possible,  yet,  to  know 
when  the  ship  will  sail  for  Rome  ?  ' 

Aurelia  meant,  of  course,  the  vessel  which  would  convey 
her  father's  corpse,  and  the  words  cast  gloom  upon  Basil, 
who  had  all  but  forgotten  the  duty  that  lay  before  him.  He 
answered  that  a  week  at  least  must  pass  before  the  sailing, 
and,  as  he  spoke,  kept  hia  eyes  upon  Veranilda,  whose 


BASIL  AND  VERANILDA          55 

countenance — or  so  it  seemed  to  him — had  become  graver, 
perhaps  a  little  sad. 

'  Is  it  your  purpose  to  stay  long  in  Rome  ? '  was  Aurelia's 
next  question,  toned  with  rather  excessive  simplicity. 

1  To  stay  long  ?  '  exclaimed  Basil.  '  How  can  you  think 
it?  Perchance  I  shall  not  even  enter  the  city.  At  Portus, 
I  may  resign  my  duty  into  other  hands,  and  so  straightway 
return.' 

There  was  a  conflict  in  Aurelia's  mind.  Reverence  for 
her  father  approved  the  thought  of  his  remains  being  trans- 
ported under  the  guardianship  of  Basil ;  none  the  less  did  she 
dread  this  journey,  and  feel  tempted  to  hinder  it.  She  rose 
from  her  chair. 

'  Let  us  walk  into  the  sunshine,'  she  said.  '  The  morning 
is  chilly.'  And,  as  she  passed  out  into  the  court,  hand  in 
hand  with  Veranilda,  '  O,  the  pleasure  of  these  large  spaces, 
this  free  air,  after  the  straight  house  at  Cumae !  Do  you 
not  breathe  more  lightly,  sweetest?  Come  into  Proba's 
garden,  and  I  will  show  you  where  I  sat  with  my  broidery 
when  I  was  no  older  than  you.' 

The  garden  was  approached  by  a  vaulted  passage.  A 
garden  long  reconquered  by  nature ;  for  the  paths  were  lost 
in  herbage,  the  seats  were  overgrown  with  creeping  plants, 
and  the  fountain  had  crumbled  into  ruin.  A  high  wall 
formerly  enclosed  it,  but,  in  a  shock  of  earthquake  some 
years  ago,  part  of  this  had  fallen,  leaving  a  gap  which  framed 
a  lovely  picture  of  the  inland  hills.  Basil  pulled  away  the 
trailing  leafage  from  a  marble  hemicycle,  and,  having  spread 
his  cloak  upon  it,  begged  tremorously  that  Veranilda  would 
rest. 

'That  wall  shall  be  rebuilt,'  said  Aurelia,  and,  as  if  to 
inspect  the  ruin,  wandered  away.  When  she  was  distant  not 
many  paces,  Basil  bent  to  his  seated  companion,  and  breathed 
in  a  passionate  undertone : 

'  My  letter  reached  your  hands,  O  fairest  ? ' 

'  I  received  it — I  read  it.' 

As  she  spoke,  Veranilda's  cheeks  flushed  as  if  in  shame. 


56  VERANILDA 

'  Will  you  reply,  were  it  but  one  word  ? ' 

Her  head  drooped  lower.     Basil  seated  himself  at  her  side. 

'  One  word,  O  Veranilda !  I  worship  you — my  soul  longs 
for  you — say  only  that  you  will  be  mine,  my  beloved  lady, 
my  wife ! ' 

Her  blue  eyes  glistened  with  moisture  as  for  an  instant 
they  met  the  dark  glow  in  his. 

'  Do  you  know  who  I  am  ? '  she  whispered. 

'  You  are  Veranilda !  You  are  beauty  and  sweetness  and 
divine  purity ' 

He  sought  her  hand,  but  at  this  moment  Aurelia  turned 
towards  them,  and  the  maiden,  quivering,  stood  up. 

'Perhaps  the  sun  is  too  powerful,'  said  Aurelia,  with  her 
tenderest  smile.  '  My  lily  has  lived  so  long  in  the  shade.' 

They  lingered  a  little  on  the  shadowed  side,  Aurelia 
reviving  memories  of  her  early  life,  then  passed  again  under 
the  vaulted  arch.  Basil,  whose  eyes  scarcely  moved  from 
Veranilda's  face,  could  not  bring  himself  to  address  her  in 
common  words,  and  dreaded  that  she  would  soon  vanish. 
So  indeed  it  befell.  With  a  murmur  of  apology  to  her 
friend,  and  a  timid  movement  of  indescribable  grace  in 
Basil's  direction,  she  escaped,  like  a  fugitive  wild  thing,  into 
solitude. 

*  Why  has  she  gone  ? '  exclaimed  the  lover,  all  impatience. 
'  I  must  follow  her — I  cannot  live  away  from  her  !  Let  me  find 
her  again.' 

His  cousin  checked  him. 

'  I  have  to  speak  to  you,  Basil.  Come  where  we  can  be 
private.' 

They  entered  the  room  where  they  had  sat  before,  and 
Aurelia,  taking  up  the  needlework  left  by  Veranilda,  showed 
it  to  her  companion  with  admiration. 

'  She  is  wondrous  at  this  art.  In  a  contest  with  Minerva, 
H  would  she  not  have  fared  better  than  Arachne  ?  This  mourn- 
ing garment  which  I  wear  is  of  her  making,  and  look  at  the 
delicate  work ;  it  was  wrought  four  years  ago,  when  I  heard 
of  my  brother's  death — wrought  in  a  few  days.  She  was 


BASIL  AND  VERANILDA          57 

then  but  thirteen.  In  all  that  it  beseems  a  woman  to  know, 
she  is  no  less  skilled.  Yonder  lies  her  cithern ;  she  learnt  to 
touch  it,  I  scarce  know  how,  out  of  mere  desire  to  soothe  my 
melancholy,  and  I  suspect — though  she  will  not  avow  it — 
that  the  music  she  plays  is  often  her  own.  In  sickness  she 
has  tended  me  with  skill  as  rare  as  her  gentleness  ;  her  touch 
on  the  hot  forehead  is  like  that  of  a  flower  plucked  before 
sunrise.  Hearing  me  speak  thus  of  her,  what  think  you,  O 
Basil,  must  be  my  trust  in  the  man  to  whom  I  would  give  her 
for  wife  ? ' 

'Can  you  doubt  my  love,  O  Aurelia?'  cried  the  listener, 
clasping  his  hands  before  him. 

'Your  love?  No.  But  your  prudence,  is  that  as  little 
beyond  doubt  ? ' 

'  I  have  thought  long  and  well,'  said  Basil. 

Aurelia  regarded  him  steadily. 

'  You  spoke  with  her  in  the  garden  just  now.  Did  she 
reply?' 

'  But  few  words.  She  asked  me  if  I  knew  her  origin,  and 
blushed  as  she  spoke.' 

'  It  is  her  wish  that  I  should  tell  you ;  and  I  will.' 

Scarce  had  Aurelia  begun  her  narrative,  when  Basil  per- 
ceived that  his  own  conjecture,  and  that  of  Marcian,  had  hit 
the  truth.  Veranilda  was  a  great-grandchild  of  Amalafrida, 
the  sister  of  King  Theodoric,  being  born  of  the  daughter  of 
King  Theodahad ;  and  her  father  was  that  Ebrimut,  whose 
treachery  at  the  beginning  of  the  great  war  delivered  Rhegium 
into  the  hands  of  the  Greeks.  Her  mother,  Theodenantha, 
a  woman  of  noble  spirit,  scorned  the  unworthy  Goth,  and 
besought  the  conqueror  to  let  her  remain  in  Italy,  even  as 
a  slave,  rather  than  share  with  such  a  husband  the  honours 
of  the  Byzantine  court.  She  won  this  grace  from  Belisarius, 
and  was  permitted  to  keep  with  her  the  little  maiden,  just 
growing  out  of  childhood.  But  shame  and  grief  had  broken 
her  heart ;  after  a  few  months  of  imprisonment  at  Cumae  she 
died.  And  Veranilda  passed  into  the  care  of  the  daughter 
of  Maximus. 


58  VERANILDA 

1  For  I  too  was  a  captive,'  said  Aurelia,  '  and  of  the  same 
religion  as  the  orphan  child.  By  happy  hazard  I  had  become 
a  friend  of  her  mother,  in  those  days  of  sorrow ;  and  with 
careless  scorn  our  conquerors  permitted  me  to  take  Veranilda 
into  my  house.  As  the  years  went  by,  she  was  all  but  for- 
gotten ;  there  came  a  new  governor — this  thievish  Hun — who 
paid  no  heed  to  us.  I  looked  forward  to  a  day  when  we 
might  quit  Cumae  and  live  in  freedom  where  we  would. 
Then  something  unforeseen  befell.  Half  a  year  ago,  just 
when  the  air  of  spring  began  to  breathe  into  that  dark,  chill 
house,  a  distant  kinsman  of  ours,  who  has  long  dwelt  in 
Byzantium — do  you  know  Olybrius,  the  son  of  Probinus?' 

'  I  have  heard  his  name.' 

1  He  came  to  me,  as  if  from  my  father ;  but  I  soon  dis- 
covered that  he  had  another  mission,  his  main  purpose  being 
to  seek  for  Veranilda.  By  whom  sent,  I  could  not  learn ; 
but  he  told  me  that  Ebrimut  was  dead,  and  that  his  son, 
Veranilda's  only  brother,  was  winning  glory  in  the  war  with 
the  Persians.  For  many  days  I  lived  in  fear  lest  my  pearl 
should  be  torn  from  me.  Olybrius  it  was,  no  doubt,  who 
bade  the  Hun  keep  watch  upon  us,  and  it  can  only  have  been 
by  chance  that  I  was  allowed  to  go  forth  unmolested  when 
you  led  me  hither  the  first  time.  He  returned  to  Byzantium, 
and  I  have  heard  no  more.  But  a  suspicion  haunts  my  mind. 
What  if  Marcian  were  also  watching  Veranilda  ? ' 

'  Marcian  ! '  cried  the  listener  incredulously.  '  You  do 
not  know  him.  He  is  the  staunchest  and  frankest  of  friends. 
He  knows  of  my  love;  we  have  talked  from  heart  to 
heart.' 

'  Yet  it  was  at  his  intercession  that  the  Hun  allowed  us  to 
go ;  why,  you  cannot  guess.  What  if  he  have  power  and 
motives  which  threaten  Veranilda's  peace  ? ' 

Basil  exclaimed  against  this  as  the  baseless  fear  of  a  woman. 
Had  there  been  a  previous  command  from  some  high  source 
touching  the  Gothic  maiden,  Chorsoman  would  never  have 
dared  to  sell  her  freedom.  As  to  Marcian's  power,  that  was 
derived  from  the  authorities  at  Rome,  and  granted  him 


BASIL  AND  VERANILDA          59 

for  other  ends ;  if  he  used  it  to  release  Veranilda,  he  acted 
merely  out  of  love  to  his  friend,  as  would  soon  be  seen. 

'I  will  hope  so,'  murmured  Aurelia.  'Now  you  have 
heard  what  she  herself  desired  that  I  should  tell  you,  for  she 
could  not  meet  your  look  until  you  knew  it.  Her  father's 
treachery  is  Veranilda's  shame ;  she  saw  her  noble  mother 
die  for  it,  and  it  has  made  her  mourning  keener  than  a 
common  sorrow.  I  think  she  would  never  have  dared  to 
wed  a  Goth  ;  all  true  Goths,  she  believes  in  her  heart,  must 
despise  her.  It  is  her  dread  lest  you,  learning  who  she  is, 
should  find  your  love  chilled.' 

'  Call  her,'  cried  Basil,  starting  to  his  feet.  *  Or  let  me  go 
to  her.  She  shall  not  suffer  that  fear  for  another  moment. 
Veranilda  !  Veranilda ! ' 

His  companion  retained  and  quieted  him.  He  should 
see  Veranilda  ere  long.  But  there  was  yet  something  to  be 
spoken  of. 

'Have  you  forgotten  that  she  is  not  of  your  faith?' 

'  Do  I  love  her,  adore  her,  the  less  ? '  exclaimed  Basil. 
'  Does  she  shrink  from  me  on  that  account  ? ' 

'  I  know,'  pursued  his  cousin,  '  what  the  Apostle  of  the 
Gentiles  has  said  :  "  For  the  husband  who  believes  not  is 
sanctified  by  the  wife,  and  the  wife  who  believes  not  is  sancti- 
fied by  the  husband."  None  the  less,  Veranilda  is  under  the 
menace  of  the  Roman  law ;  and  you,  if  it  be  known  that  you 
have  wedded  her,  will  be  in  peril  from  all  who  serve  the 
Emperor — at  least  in  dark  suspicion;  and  will  be  slightly 
esteemed  by  all  of  our  house.' 

The  lover  paced  about,  and  all  at  once,  with  a  wild  gesture, 
uttered  his  inmost  thought. 

'What  if  I  care  naught  for  those  of  our  house?  And  what 
if  the  Emperor  of  the  East  is  of  as  little  account  to  me  ?  My 
country  is  not  Byzantium,  but  Rome.' 

Aurelia  hushed  his  voice,  but  her  eyes  shone  with  stern 
gladness  as  she  stood  before  him,  and  took  him  by  the  hand, 
and  spoke  what  he  alone  could  hear. 

'Then  unite  yourself  in  faith  with  those  who  would  make 


60  VERANILDA 

Rome  free.  Be  one  in  religion  with  the  brave  Goths — with 
Veranilda.' 

He  cast  down  his  eyes  and  drew  a  deep  breath. 

*  I  scarce  know  what  that  religion  is,  O  Aurelia,'  came  from 
him  stammeringly.  '  I  am  no  theologian ;  I  never  cared  to 
puzzle  my  head  about  the  mysteries  which  men  much  wiser 
than  I  declare  to  pass  all  human  understanding.  Ask  Decius 
if  he  can  defend  the  faith  of  Athanasius  against  that  of  the 
Arians ;  he  will  smile,  and  shake  his  head  in  that  droll  way 
he  has.  I  believe,'  he  added  after  a  brief  hesitancy,  'in 
Christ  and  in  the  Saints.  Does  not  Veranilda  also  ? ' 

The  temptress  drew  back  a  little,  seated  herself,  yielded  to 
troublous  thought.  It  was  long  since  she  had  joined  in  the 
worship  of  a  congregation,  for  at  Cumae  there  was  no  Arian 
church.  Once  only  since  her  captivity  had  she  received 
spiritual  comfort  from  an  Arian  priest,  who  came  to  that  city 
in  disguise.  What  her  religion  truly  was  she  could  not  have 
declared,  for  the  memories  of  early  life  were  sometimes  as 
strong  in  her  as  rancour  against  the  faith  of  her  enemies. 
Basil's  simple  and  honest  utterance  touched  her  conscience. 
She  put  an  end  to  the  conversation,  promising  to  renew 
it  before  long ;  whilst  Basil,  for  his  part,  went  away  to  brood 
then  to  hold  converse  with  Decius. 

Through  all  but  the  whole  of  Theodoric's  reign,  Italy  had 
enjoyed  a  large  toleration  in  religion :  Catholics,  Arians,  and 
even  Jews  observed  their  worship  under  the  protection  of  the 
wise  king.  Only  in  the  last  few  years  of  his  life  did  he  com- 
mit certain  acts  of  harshness  against  his  Catholic  subjects, 
due  to  the  wrath  that  was  moved  in  him  by  a  general  perse- 
cution of  the  Arians  proclaimed  at  Byzantium.  His  Gothic 
successors  adhered  to  Theodoric's  better  principle,  and  only 
after  the  subjugation  of  the  land  by  Belisarius  had  Arianism 
in  Italy  been  formally  condemned.  Of  course  it  was  pro- 
tected by  the  warring  Goths  :  Totila's  victories  had  now  once 
more  extended  religious  tolerance  over  a  great  part  of  the 
country;  the  Arian  priesthood  re-entered  their  churches;  and 
even  in  Rome  the  Greek  garrison  grew  careless  of  the  reviv- 


BASIL  AND  VERANILDA          61 

ing  heresy.  Of  these  things  did  Decius  speak,  when  the 
distressed  lover  sought  his  counsel.  No  one  more  liberal 
than  Decius  ;  but  he  bore  a  name  which  he  could  not  forget, 
and  in  his  eyes  the  Goth  was  a  barbarian,  the  Gothic  woman 
hardly  above  the  level  of  a  slave.  That  Basil  should  take  a 
Gothic  wife,  even  one  born  of  a  royal  line,  seemed  to  him  an 
indignity.  Withheld  by  the  gentleness  of  his  temper  from 
saying  all  he  thought,  he  spoke  only  of  the  difficulties  which 
would  result  from  such  a  marriage,  and  when,  in  reply, 
Basil  disclosed  his  mind,  though  less  vehemently  than  to 
Aurelia,  Decius  fell  into  meditation.  He,  too,  had  often 
reflected  with  bitterness  on  the  results  of  that  restoration  of 
Rome  to  the  Empire  which  throughout  the  Gothic  dominion 
most  of  the  Roman  nobles  had  never  ceased  to  desire ;  all 
but  was  he  persuaded  to  approve  the  statesmanship  of  Cassio- 
dorus.  Nevertheless,  he  could  not,  without  shrinking,  see  a 
kinsman  pass  over  to  the  side  of  Totila. 

'  I  must  think,'  he  murmured.  '  I  must  think.' 
He  had  not  yet  seen  Veranilda.  When,  in  the  afternoon, 
Basil  led  him  into  the  ladies'  presence,  and  his  eyes  fell 
upon  that  white-robed  loveliness,  censure  grew  faint  in  him. 
Though  a  Decius,  he  was  a  man  of  the  sixth  century  after 
Christ;  his  mind  conceived  an  ideal  of  human  excellence 
which  would  have  been  unintelligible  to  the  Decii  of  old ;  in 
his  heart  meekness  and  chastity  had  more  reverence  than 
perhaps  he  Imagined.  He  glanced  at  Basil ;  he  understood. 
Though  the  future  still  troubled  him,  opposition  to  the 
lover's  will  must,  he  knew,  be  idle. 

Several  hours  before,  Basil  had  scratched  on  a  waxed 
tablet  a  few  emphatic  lines,  which  his  cousin  allowed  to  be 
transmitted  to  Veranilda.  They  assured  her  that  what  he  had 
learned  could  only — if  that  were  possible — increase  his  love, 
and  entreated  her  to  grant  him  were  it  but  a  moment's  speech 
after  the  formal  visit,  later  in  the  day.  The  smile  with  which 
she  now  met  him  seemed  at  once  gratitude  and  promise  ;  she 
was  calmer,  and  less  timid:  Though  she  took  little  part  in 
the  conversation,  her  words  fell  very  sweetly  after  the  men's 


62  VERANILDA 

speech  and  the  self-confident  tones  of  Aurelia ;  her  language 
was  that  of  an  Italian  lady,  but  in  the  accent  could  be  marked 
a  slight  foreignness,  which  to  Basil's  ear  had  the  charm  of 
rarest  music,  and  even  to  Decius  sounded  not  unpleasing. 
Under  the  circumstances,  talk,  confined  to  indifferent  sub- 
jects, could  not  last  very  long ;  as  soon  as  it  began  to  flag, 
Decius  found  an  excuse  for  begging  permission  to  retire. 
As  though  wishing  for  a  word  with  him  in  confidence, 
Aurelia  at  the  same  time  passed  out  of  the  room  into  the 
colonnade.  Basil  and  Veranilda  were  left  alone. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  EMPEROR'S  COMMAND 

His  voice  made  tremulous  music,  inaudible  a  few  paces 
away ;  his  breath  was  on  her  cheek  ;  his  eyes,  as  she  gazed 
into  them,  seemed  to  envelop  her  in  their  glow. 

'My  fairest!  Let  me  but  touch  your  hand.  Lay  it  for 
a  moment  in  mine — a  pledge  for  ever ! ' 

4  You  do  not  fear  to  love  me,  O  lord  of  my  life  ? ' 

The  whisper  made  him  faint  with  joy. 

'  What  has  fear  to  do  with  love,  O  thou  with  heaven  in 
thine  eyes !  what  room  is  there  for  fear  in  the  heart  where 
thy  beauty  dwells  ?  Speak  again,  speak  again,  my  beloved, 
and  bless  me  above  all  men  that  live  ! ' 

'  Basil !  Basil !  Utter  my  name  once  more.  I  never 
knew  how  sweet  it  could  sound.' 

'  Nor  I,  how  soft  could  be  the  sound  of  mine.  Forgive 
me,  O  Veranilda,  that  out  of  my  love  pain  has  come  to 
you.  You  will  not  ever  be  sad  again  ?  You  will  not  think 
ever  again  of  those  bygone  sorrows  ? ' 

She  bent  her  head  low. 

*Can  you  believe  in  my  truth,  O  Basil?    Can  you  forget?' 

'  All  save  the  nobleness  of  her  who  bore  you,  sweet  and 
fair  one.' 

'  Let  that  be  ever  in  your  thought,'  said  Veranilda,  with  a 
radiant  look.  '  She  sees  me  now ;  and  my  hope,  your  strength 
and  goodness,  bring  new  joy  to  her  in  the  life  eternal.' 

'  Say  the  word  I  wait  for — whisper  low — the  word  of  all 
words.' 

*  Out  of  my  soul,  O  Basil,  I  love  you  ! ' 

61 


64  VERANILDA 

As  the  sound  trembled  into  silence,  his  lips  touched  hers. 
In  the  golden  shadow  of  her  hair,  the  lily  face  flushed  warm  ; 
yet  she  did  not  veil  her  eyes,  vouchers  of  a  life's  loyalty. 

When  Aurelia  entered  the  room  again,  she  walked  as 
though  absorbed  in  thought. 

'Decius  tells  me  he  must  soon  go  to  Rome,'  were  her 
words,  in  drawing  near  to  the  lovers. 

Basil  had  heard  of  no  such  purpose.  His  kinsman,  under 
the  will  of  Maximus,  enjoyed  a  share  in  the  annual  revenue 
of  this  Surrentine  estate ;  moreover,  he  became  the  possessor 
of  many  books,  which  lay  in  the  Anician  mansion  of  Rome, 
and  it  was  his  impatience,  thought  Aurelia,  to  lay  hands 
upon  so  precious  a  legacy,  which  might  at  any  time  be  put 
in  danger  by  the  events  of  the  war,  that  prompted  him  to  set 
forth. 

'  Might  he  not  perform  the  duty  you  have  undertaken  ? ' 
she  added  in  a  lower  voice,  as  she  met  Basil's  look. 

Veranilda  did  not  speak,  but  an  anxious  hope  dawned  in 
her  face.  And  Basil  saw  it. 

*  Have  you  spoken  of  it,  cousin  ? '  he  asked. 

'  The  thought  has  but  just  come  to  me.' 

'  Decius  is  not  in  good  health.  Thus  late  in  the  year,  to 

travel  by  sea Yet  the  weather  may  be  fair,  the  sea 

still ;  and  then  it  would  be  easier  for  him  than  the  journey 
by  land.' 

Basil  spoke  in  a  halting  tone.  He  could  not  without  a 
certain  shame  think  of  revoking  his  promise  to  Petronilla,  a 
very  distinct  promise,  in  which  natural  obligation  had  part. 
Yet  the  thought  of  the  journey,  of  an  absence  from  Veran- 
ilda, not  without  peril  of  many  kinds,  grew  terrible  to  him. 
He  looked  at  Veranilda  again,  and  smiled  encouragement. 

The  lady  Petronilla  had  been  wont  to  dine  and  sup  in 
dignified  publicity,  seated  on  the  sigma^  in  the  room  which 
had  seen  so  many  festivals,  together  with  her  male  relatives 
and  any  guest  who  might  be  at  the  villa ;  in  her  presence, 
no  man  permitted  himself  the  recumbent  attitude,  which 
1  Couch  for  use  at  a  round  dining-table  (orbis). 


THE  EMPEROR'S   COMMAND      65 

indeed  had  been  unusual  save  among  the  effeminate.  But 
Aurelia  and  her  companion  took  their  meals  apart.  This 
evening,  Basil  and  Decius  supped  almost  in  silence,  each 
busy  with  his  reflections.  They  lingered  over  the  wine, 
their  attendants  having  left  them,  until  Decius,  as  if  rous- 
ing himself  from  a  dream,  asked  how  long  it  was  likely  to 
be  before  the  ship  could  sail.  Basil  answered  that  the  leaden 
coffin  would  be  ready  within  a  few  days  (it  was  being  made 
at  Neapolis,  out  of  water-pipes  which  had  served  a  villa  in 
ruins),  and  after  that  there  would  only  be  delay  through  wind 
and  weather. 

'  Are  you  greatly  bent  on  going  to  Rome  just  now  ? '  was 
the  student's  next  inquiry,  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes  as  he  spoke. 

'  By  Bacchus  ! '  answered  the  other,  handling  his  goblet. 
1  If  I  saw  my  way  to  avoid  it ! ' 

'  I  guessed  as  much.  The  suspicion  came  to  me  at  a  cer- 
tain moment  this  morning — a  mere  grain,  which  ever  sine? 
has  been  growing  tanquam  favus.  I  am  not  wont  to  considet 
myself  as  of  much  use,  but  is  it  not  just  possible  that,  in  this 
case,  your  humble  kinsman  might  serve  you?' 

'  My  good,  my  excellent,  my  very  dear  Decius ! '  broke 
from  the  listener.  '  But  would  it  not  be  with  risk  to  your 
health?' 

'  I  would  beg  permission  not  to  weigh  anchor  in  a  tem- 
pest, that 's  all.  The  sea  in  its  gentler  moods  I  have  never 
feared,  and  alcyoneum  medicamen,  you  know,  in  other  words 
the  sea-foam,  has  always  been  recommended  for  freckles.' 

He  touched  his  face,  which  was  indeed  much  freckle- 
spotted,  and  Basil,  whose  spirits  rose  each  moment,  gave  a 
good-natured  laugh. 

'  One  thing  only,'  added  Decius  seriously.  '  Inasmuch 
as  this  charge  is  a  grave  one,  I  would  not  undertake  it  with- 
out the  consent  of  the  ladies  Aurelia  and  Petronilla.  Per- 
chance, in  respect  for  the  honoured  Maximus,  they  would 
feel  reluctant  to  see  me  take  your  place.' 

'O  modest  Decius ! '  exclaimed  the  other.  '  Which,  pray, 
carries  the  more  dignity,  your  name  or  mine  ? — not  to  speak 

E 


66  VERANILDA 

of  your  learning  and  my  ignorance.  As  to  Aurelia,  I  can 
ease  your  mind  at  once.  She  would  not  dream  of  objecting.' 

'  Then  let  us,  to-morrow,  beg  audience  of  the  pious  lady 
at  Surrentum,  and  request  her  permission.' 

The  proposal  made  Basil  uncomfortable;  but  a  visit  of 
respect  to  Petronilla  was  certainly  due,  and  perhaps  it  would 
pass  without  troublesome  incident.  He  nodded  assent. 

Early  on  the  morrow  they  carried  out  their  purpose.  To 
the  surprise  of  both,  Petronilla  received  them  in  her  modest 
abode  not  ungraciously,  though  with  marked  condescension  : 
she  gave  them  to  understand  that  her  days,  and  much  of  her 
nights,  passed  in  religious  exercises,  the  names  of  her  kins- 
folk not  being  omitted  from  her  prayers ;  of  the  good  bishop 
she  spoke  almost  tenderly,  and  with  a  humble  pride  related 
that  she  had  been  able  to  ease  a  persistent  headache  from 
which  his  Sanctity  suffered.  When  Basil  found  an  oppor- 
tunity of  reporting  what  had  passed  between  him  and  Decius, 
the  lady's  austere  smile  was  for  a  moment  clouded ;  it  looked 
as  though  storm  might  follow.  But  the  smile  returned,  with 
perhaps  a  slightly  changed  significance.  Did  Basil  think  of 
remaining  long  at  the  villa  ?  Ah,  he  could  not  say ;  to  be 
sure,  the  times  were  so  uncertain.  For  her  own  part,  she 
would  start  on  her  journey  as  soon  as  the  coffin  was  on 
board  the  ship.  Indeed,  she  saw  no  objection  to  the 
arrangement  her  dear  nephew  proposed;  she  only  trusted 
that  the  learned  and  amiable  Decius,  so  justly  esteemed  by 
all,  would  have  a  care  of  his  health.  Did  he  still  take  the 
infusion  of  marjoram  which  she  had  prescribed  for  him  ?  A 
holy  man,  newly  returned  from  the  East,  had  deigned  to  visit 
her  only  yesterday,  and  had  given  her  a  small  phial  of  water 
from  Rebekah's  well ;  it  was  of  priceless  virtue,  and  one  drop 
of  it  had  last  evening  restored  to  health  and  strength  a  child 
that  lay  at  the  point  of  death. 

In  the  afternoon  Basil  was  again  permitted  to  see  Veran- 
ilda,  though  not  alone.  To  her  and  to  Aurelia  he  made 
known  that  Decius  would  willingly  undertake  the  voyage. 
After  lingering  for  an  hour  in  the  vain  hope  that  Aurelia 


THE  EMPEROR'S   COMMAND      67 

would  withdraw,  were  it  but  for  a  moment,  he  went  away  and 
scratched  ardent  words  on  his  tablet.  '  I  will  be  in  your 
garden,'  he  concluded,  'just  at  sunrise  to-morrow.  Try,  try 
to  meet  me  there.' 

Scarcely  had  he  despatched  a  servant  with  this  when  Felix 
announced  to  him  the  arrival  of  Marcian.  On  fire  with 
eagerness,  Basil  sped  to  greet  his  friend. 

'Give  me  to  drink,'  were  the  traveller's  first  words.  'I 
have  ridden  since  before  dawn,  and  have  a  tongue  like 
leather.' 

Wine  and  grapes,  with  other  refreshments,  were  set  forth 
for  him.  Marcian  took  up  an  earthenware  jug  full  of  spring 
water,  and  drank  deeply.  His  host  then  urged  the  wine,  but 
it  was  refused;  and  as  Basil  knew  that  one  of  his  friend's 
peculiarities  was  a  rigorous  abstinence  at  times  from  all 
liquor  save  the  pure  element,  he  said  no  more. 

'  I  have  been  at  Nuceria,'  Marcian  continued,  throwing 
himself  on  a  seat,  '  with  Venantius.  What  a  man  !  He  was 
in  the  saddle  yesterday  from  sunrise  to  sunset ;  drank  from 
sunset  to  the  third  hour  of  the  night ;  rose  before  light  this 
morning,  gay  and  brisk,  and  made  me  ride  with  him,  so  that 
I  was  all  but  tired  out  before  I  started  on  the  road  hither. 
Venantius  declares  that  he  can  only  talk  of  serious  things  on 
horseback.' 

'  My  uncle  regarded  him  as  a  Roman  turned  barbarian,' 
said  Basil. 

'Something  of  that,  but  such  men  have  their  worth  and 
their  place.' 

'We  will  talk  about  him  at  another  time,'  Basil  interrupted. 
'Remember  how  we  parted  at  Cumae  and  what  happened 
afterwards.  We  are  private  here;  you  can  speak  freely. 
How  did  you  release  us  from  the  grip  of  the  Hun  ? ' 

'  I  told  you  before,  good  Basil,  that  I  was  here  to  spy  upon 
you;  and  be  sure  that  I  did  not  undertake  that  office  without 
exacting  a  proof  of  the  confidence  of  our  lords  at  Rome. 
Something  I  carry  with  me  which  has  power  over  such  dogs 
as  Chorsoman.' 


68  VERANILDA 

'  I  saw  that,  best  Marcian.  But  it  did  not  avail  to  save 
my  cousin  Aurelia  from  robbery.' 

1  Nothing  would,  where  Chorsoman  was  sure  of  a  week's — 
nay,  of  an  hour's — impunity.  But  did  he  steal  aught  belong- 
ing to  the  Gothic  maiden  ? ' 

'  To  Veranilda  ?  She  has  but  a  bracelet  and  a  ring,  and 
those  she  was  wearing.  They  came  from  her  mother,  a 
woman  of  noblest  heart,  who,  when  her  husband  Ebrimut 
played  the  traitor,  and  she  was  left  behind  in  Italy,  would 
keep  nothing  but  these  two  trinkets,  which  once  were  worn  by 
Amalafrida.' 

'  You  know  all  that  now,'  observed  Marcian  quietly. 

'The  story  of  the  trinkets  only  since  an  hour  or  two 
ago.  That  of  Veranilda's  parentage  I  learned  from  Aurelia, 
Veranilda  refusing  to  converse  with  me  until  I  knew.' 

'  Since  when  you  have  conversed,  I  take  it,  freely  enough.' 

'  Good  my  lord,'  replied  Basil,  with  a  look  of  some  earnest- 
ness, 'let  us  not  jest  on  this  matter.' 

'  I  am  little  disposed  to  do  so,  O  fiery  lover ! '  said  Marcian, 
with  a  return  of  his  wonted  melancholy.  '  For  I  have  that 
to  tell  you  which  makes  the  matter  grave  enough.  We  were 
right,  you  see,  in  our  guess  of  Veranilda's  origin ;  I  could 
wish  she  had  been  any  one  else.  Patience,  patience !  You 
know  that  I  left  you  here  to  go  to  Neapolis.  There  I  received 
letters  from  Rome,  one  of  them  from  Bessas  himself,  and, 
by  strange  hazard,  the  subject  of  it  was  the  daughter  of 
Ebrimut.' 

Basil  made  a  gesture  of  repugnance.  '  Nay,  call  her  the 
daughter  of  Theodenantha.' 

'  As  you  will.  In  any  case  the  granddaughter  of  a  king, 
and  not  likely  to  be  quite  forgotten  by  the  royal  family  of  her 
own  race.  Another  king's  grandchild,  Matasuntha,  lives, 
as  you  know,  at  Byzantium,  and  enjoys  no  little  esteem  at 
the  Emperor's  court ;  it  is  rumoured,  indeed,  that  her  husband 
Vitiges,  having  died  somewhere  in  battle,  Matasuntha  is  to 
wed  a  nephew  of  Justinian.  This  lady,  I  am  told,  desires  to 
know  the  daughter  of  Ebri — nay,  then,  of  Theodenantha ;  of 


THE   EMPEROR'S   COMMAND      69 

whom,  it  seems,  a  report  has  reached  her.  A  command  of 
the  Emperor  has  come  to  Bessas  that  the  maiden  Veranilda, 
resident  at  Cumae,  be  sent  to  Constantinople  with  all  con- 
venient speed.  And  upon  me,  O  Basil,  lies  the  charge  of 
seeking  her  in  her  dwelling,  and  of  conveying  her  safely  to 
Rome,  where  she  will  be  guarded  until ' 

'Will  be  guarded!'  echoed  Basil  fiercely.  'Nay,  by  the 
holy  Peter  and  Paul,  that  will  she  not !  You  are  my  friend, 
Marcian,  and  I  hold  you  dear,  but  if  you  attempt  to  obey 
this  order ' 

Hand  on  dagger,  and  eyes  glaring,  the  young  noble  had 
sprung  to  his  feet.  Marcian  did  not  stir;  his  head  was 
slightly  bent,  and  a  sad  smile  hovered  about  his  lips. 

'O  descendant  of  all  the  Anicii,'  he  replied,  'O  son 
of  many  consuls,  remember  the  ancestral  dignity.  Time 
enough  to  threaten- when  you  detect  me  in  an  unfriendly  act. 
Did  I  play  the  traitor  to  you  at  Cumae  ?  With  the  Hun  this 
command  of  Justinian  served  you  in  good  stead ;  Veranilda 
would  not  otherwise  have  escaped  so  easily.  Chorsoman, 
fat-witted  as  he  is,  willingly  believed  that  Veranilda  and 
Aurelia,  and  you  yourself,  were  all  in  my  net — which  means 
the  net  of  Bessas,  whom  he  fears.  Do  you  also  believe  it, 
my  good  Basil  ? ' 

For  answer  Basil  embraced  his  friend,  and  kissed  him  on 
either  cheek. 

'I  know  how  this  has  come  about,'  he  said;  and  there- 
upon related  the  story  of  the  visit  of  Olybrius  to  Aurelia  six 
months  ago.  It  seemed  probable  that  a  report  of  Veranilda's 
beauty  had  reached  Matasuntha,  who  wished  to  adorn  her 
retinue  with  so  fair  a  remnant  of  the  Amal  race.  How,  he 
went  on  to  ask,  would  Marcian  excuse  himself  at  Rome  for 
his  failure  to  perform  this  office  ? 

'  Leave  that  to  my  ingenuity,'  was  the  reply.  'Enough  for 
you  to  dare  defiance  of  the  Emperor's  will.' 

Basil  made  a  scornful  gesture,  which  his  friend  noted  with 
the  same  melancholy  smile. 

'  You  have  no  misgiving  ? '  said  Marcian.    '  Think  who  it  is 


70  VERANILDA 

you  brave.  Imperator  Caesar  Flavius  Justinianus — Africanus, 
Gothicus,  Germanicus,  Vandalicus,  and  I  know  not  what 
else — Pius,  Felix,  Inclytus,  Victor  ac  Triumphator,  Semper 
Augustus ' 

The  other  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

'  Marcian,  no  word  of  this  to  Aurelia,  I  charge  you  ! ' 

'  I  have  no  desire  to  talk  about  it,  be  assured.  But  it  is 
time  that  we  understood  each  other.  Be  plain  with  me.  If 
you  wed  Veranilda  how  do  you  purpose  to  secure  your  safety  ? 
Not,  I  imagine,  by  prostrating  yourself  before  Bessas.  Where 
will  you  be  safe  from  pursuit  ? ' 

Basil  reflected,  then  asked  boldly  : 

*  Has  not  the  King  Totila  welcomed  and  honourably  enter- 
tained Romans  who  have  embraced  his  cause  ? ' 

'  Come  now,'  exclaimed  the  other,  his  sad  visage  lighting 
up,  '  that  is  to  speak  like  a  man !  So,  we  do  understand  each 
other.  Be  it  known  unto  you  then,  O  Basil,  that  at  this 
moment  the  Gothic  king  is  aware  of  your  love  for  Veranilda, 
and  of  your  purpose  to  espouse  her.  You  indeed  are  a 
stranger  to  him,  even  in  name  ;  but  not  so  the  Anician  house ; 
and  an  Anician,  be  assured,  will  meet  with  no  cold  reception 
in  the  camp  of  the  Goths.' 

*  You  enjoy  the  confidence  of  Totila?'  asked  Basil,  won- 
dering, and  a  little  confused. 

'  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  I  claimed  the  merit  of  playing 
traitor  to  both  sides  ? ' 

Marcian  spoke  with  a  note  of  bitterness,  looking  his  friend 
fixedly  in  the  face. 

'  It  is  a  noble  treachery,'  said  Basil,  seizing  both  his  hands. 
1 1  am  with  you,  heart  and  soul !  Tell  me  more.  Where  is 
the  king  ?  Will  he  march  upon  Rome  ? ' 

'Neapolis  will  see  him  before  Rome  does.  He  comes 
slowly  through  Samnium,  making  sure  his  conquest  on  the 
way.  Let  me  now  speak  again  of  Venantius.  He  would  fain 
know  you.' 

'He  is  one  of  ours?' 

'One  of  those  true  Romans  who   abhor   the    Eastern 


THE   EMPEROR'S  COMMAND      71 

tyranny  and  see  in  the  Goth  a  worthy  ally.  Will  you  ride 
with  me  to-morrow  to  Nuceria  ?  ' 

'  I  cannot,'  replied  Basil,  '  for  I  dare  not  leave  Veranilda 
without  protection,  after  what  you  have  told  me.' 

'  Why,  then,  Venantius  must  come  hither.' 

Whilst  the  friends  were  thus  conversing  a  courier  rode 
forth  from  Surrentum  towards  Neapolis.  He  bore  a  letter 
whereof  the  contents  were  these  :  — 

'To  the  holy  and  reverend  deacon  Leander,  Petronilla's 
humble  salutation. 

1  1  am  most  punctually  informed  of  all  that  passes  at  the 
villa.  My  nephew  goes  not  to  Rome  ;  his  place  will  be  taken 
by  Decius.  The  reason  is  that  which  I  have  already  sug- 
gested to  your  Sanctity.  Marcian  has  arrived  this  afternoon, 
coming  I  know  not  whence,  but  I  shall  learn.  I  suspect 
things  of  the  darkest  moment.  Let  your  Sancdj^rJursuelEe" 
project  with  which  heaven  has  inspired  ytfu.  You  shall 
receive,  if  necessary,  two  missives  every  day.  Humbly  I 
entreat  your  prayers.' 


shred' 


CHAPTER  VII   . 

HERESY 

THE  Roman  Empire,  by  confining  privileges  and  honours  to 
the  senatorial  order,  created  a  noble  caste,  and  this  caste,  as 
Imperial  authority  declined,  became  a  power  independent 
of  the  state,  and  a  menace  to  its  existence.  In  Italy,  by  the 
end  of  the  fifth  century,  the  great  system  of  citizenship,  with 
its  principle  of  infinite  devotion  to  the  good  of  the  common- 
wealth, was  all  but  forgotten.  In  matters  of  justice  and  of 
finance  the  nobles  were  beginning  to  live  by  their  own  law, 
which  was  that  of  the  right  of  the  strongest.  Having  ceased 
to  hold  office  and  perform  public  services  in  the  municipia, 
they  became,  in  fact,  rulers  of  the  towns  situated  on  or  near 
their  great  estates.  Theodoric,  striving  to  uphold  the  ancient 
civility,  made  strenuous  efforts  to  combat  this  aristocratic 
predominance;  yet  on  some  points  he  was  obliged  to  yield  to 
the  tendency  of  the  times,  as  when  he  forbade  the  freed  men, 
serfs,  and  slaves  on  any  estate  to  plead  against  their  lord, 
and  so  delivered  the  mass  of  the  rural  inhabitants  of  Italy  to 
private  jurisdiction.  The  Gothic  war  of  course  hastened  the 
downfall  of  political  and  social  order.  The  manners  of  the 
nobles  grew  violent  in  lawlessness;  men  calling  themselves 
senators,  but  having  in  fact  renounced  that  rank  by  per- 
manent absence  from  Rome,  and  others  who  merely  belonged 
to  senatorial  houses,  turned  to  fortifying  their  villas,  and  to 
building  castles  on  heights,  whilst  they  gathered  about  them 
a  body  of  retainers,  armed  for  defence  or  for  aggression. 

Such  a  personage  was  Venantius,  son  of  a  senator  of  the 
same  name,  who,  under  Theodoric,  had  attained  the  dignity 
73 


HERESY  73 

of  Patrician  and  what  other  titular  glories  the  time  afforded. 
Venantius,  the  younger,  coming  into  possession  of  an  estate 
between  Neapolis  and  Salernum,  here  took  up  his  abode  after 
the  siege  of  Rome,  and  lived  as  seemed  good  to  him,  lord 
over  the  little  town  of  Nuceria,  and  of  a  considerable  tract 
of  country,  with  a  villa  converted  into  a  stronghold  up  on  the 
mountain  side.  Having  suffered  wrongs  at  the  hands  of  the 
Imperial  conquerors — property  of  his  in  Rome  had  been 
seized — he  heard  with  satisfaction  of  the  rise  of  Totila,  and,  as 
soon  as  the  king's  progress  southward  justified  such  a  step, 
entered  into  friendly  communication  with  the  Goth,  whom 
he  invited  to  come  with  all  speed  into  Campania,  where 
Salernum,  Neapolis,  Cumae,  would  readily  fall  into  his  hands. 
Marcian,  on  his  double  mission  of  spy  in  the  Greek  service 
and  friend  of  the  Goths,  had  naturally  sought  out  Venantius  j 
and  the  description  he  gave  to  Basil  of  the  fortress  above 
Nuceria  filled  the  listener  with  enthusiasm. 

'  I  would  I  could  live  in  the  same  way,'  Basil  exclaimed. 
'  And  why  not  ?  My  own  villa  in  Picenum  might  be  strength- 
ened with  walls  and  towers.  We  have  stone  enough,  and  no 
lack  of  men  to  build.' 

Yet  as  he  spoke  a  misgiving  betrayed  itself  on  his  counte- 
nance. Consciously  or  not,  he  had  always  had  before  him  a 
life  at  Rome,  the  life  which  became  a  Roman,  as  distinguished 
from  a  barbarian.  But  the  need  to  seek  security  for  Veran- 
ilda  again  became  vivid  to  his  mind.  At  Rome,  clearly,  he 
could  not  live  with  his  wife  until  the  Goths  had  reconquered 
the  city,  which  was  not  likely  to  happen  soon.  His  means 
were  represented  chiefly  by  the  Arpinum  estate,  which  he 
had  inherited  from  his  father ;  in  Rome  he  had  nothing  but 
his  mansion  on  the  Caelian.  The  treasure  at  his  command, 
a  considerable  sum,  he  had  brought  away  in  a  strong  box, 
and  it  was  now  more  than  doubled  in  value  by  what  fell  to 
him  under  the  will  of  Maximus — money  to  be  paid  out  of  the 
great  coffer  which  the  senator  had  conveyed  hither.  As  they 
talked,  Marcian  urged  upon  him  a  close  friendship  with 
Venantius,  in  whose  castle  he  would  be  welcomed.  Here  at 


74  VERANILDA 

Surrentum  he  could  not  long  rest  in  safety,  for  Chorsoman 
might  at  any  time  have  his  suspicions  awakened  by 
learning  the  delay  of  Veranilda's  journey  to  Rome,  and 
the  news  of  her  marriage  could  not  be  prevented  from 
spreading. 

So  Basil  lay  through  an  anxious  hour  or  two  before  sleep 
fell  upon  him  to-night.  He  resolved  to  change  the  habits 
of  his  life,  to  shake  off  indolence  and  the  love  of  ease,  to 
fortify  himself  with  vigorous  exercises,  and  become  ready  for 
warfare.  It  was  all  very  well  for  an  invalid,  like  Decius,  to 
nurse  a  tranquil  existence,  unheeding  the  temper  of  the  times. 
A  strong  and  healthy  man  had  no  right  to  lurk  away  from 
the  streaming  flood  of  things ;  it  behoved  him  to  take  his 
part  in  strife  and  tumult,  to  aid  in  re-establishing  a  civic 
state.  This  determination  firmly  grasped,  he  turned  to  think 
of  the  hoped-for  meeting  with  Veranilda  in  the  morning,  and 
gentler  emotions  lulled  him  into  dreams. 

At  dawn  he  bestirred  himself.  The  gallery  outside  his 
chamber  was  lighted  with  a  hanging  lamp,  and  at  a  little 
distance  sounded  the  footstep  of  the  watchman,  who  told 
him  that  the  morning  was  fair,  and,  at  his  bidding,  opened  a 
door  which  admitted  to  the  open  terrace  overlooking  the  sea. 
Having  stepped  forth,  Basil  stood  for  a  moment  sniffing  the 
cool  air  with  its  scent  from  the  vineyards,  and  looking  at  the 
yellow  rift  in  the  eastern  sky  ;  then  he  followed  a  path  which 
skirted  the  villa's  outward  wall  and  led  towards  the  dwelling 
of  Aurelia.  Presently  he  reached  the  ruined  wall  of  the  little 
garden,  and  here  a  voice  challenged  him,  that  of  a  servant  on 
watch  until  sunrise. 

'It  is  well,'  he  replied.  'I  will  relieve  you  for  this  last 
half  hour ;  go  to  your  rest.' 

But  the  slave  hesitated.  He  had  strictest  orders,  and 
feared  to  disobey  them  even  at  this  bidding. 

'You  are  an  honest  fellow,'  said  Basil,  'and  the  lady 
Aurelia  shall  know  of  your  steadfastness.  But  get  you  gone ; 
there  is  no  danger  whilst  I  am  here.' 

Impatiently  he  watched  the  man  retire,  then  stood  just 


HERESY  75 

within  the  gap  of  the  wall,  and  waited  with  as  much  fear  as 
hope.  It  might  be  that  Veranilda  would  not  venture  forth 
without  speaking  to  Aurelia,  who  might  forbid  the  meeting ; 
or,  if  she  tried  to  steal  out,  she  might  be  detected  and 
hindered ;  perhaps  she  would  fear  to  pass  under  the  eyes  of 
a  watchman  or  other  servant  who  might  be  in  her  way.  He 
stamped  nervously,  and  turned  to  look  for  a  moment  in  the 
outward  direction.  This  little  villa  stood  on  the  edge  of  a 
declivity  falling  towards  the  sea;  a  thicket  of  myrtles  grew 
below.  At  the  distance  of  half  a  mile  along  the  coast,  beyond 
a  hollow  wooded  with  ilex,  rose  a  temple,  which  time  and 
the  hand  of  man  had  yet  spared;  its  whiteness  glimmered 
against  a  sky  whose  cloudless  dusk  was  warming  with  a  reflec- 
tion of  the  daybreak.  An  influence  in  the  scene  before  him, 
something  he  neither  understood  nor  tried  to  understand, 
held  him  gazing  longer  than  he  supposed,  and  with  a  start  he 
heard  his  name  spoken  by  the  beloved  voice.  Close  to  him 
stood  Veranilda.  She  was  cloaked  and  hooded,  so  that  he 
could  hardly  see  her  face;  but  her  white  hands  were  held 
out  for  his. 

Heart  to  heart,  mouth  to  mouth,  they  whispered.  To  be 
more  private,  Basil  drew  her  without  the  garden.  Veranilda's 
eyes  fixed  themselves  upon  the  spreading  glory  of  the  east; 
and  it  moved  her  to  utterance. 

'When  I  was  a  child,'  she  said,  'at  Ravenna,  I  gazed  once 
at  the  sunrise,  and  behold,  in  the  rays  which  shot  upwards 
stood  an  angel,  a  great,  beautiful  angel,  with  wings  of  blue, 
and  a  garment  which  shone  like  gold,  and  on  his  head  was  a 
wreath  of  I  know  not  what  flowers.  I  ran  to  tell  my  mother, 
but  when  she  came,  alas !  the  angel  had  vanished.  No 
one  could  tell  me  certainly  what  the  vision  meant.  Often 
I  have  looked  and  hoped  to  see  the  angel  again,  but  he  has 
never  come.' 

Basil  listened  without  a  doubt,  and  murmured  soft  words. 
Then  he  asked  whether  Aurelia  knew  of  this  meeting;  but 
Veranilda  shook  her  head. 

'  I  durst  not  speak.     I  so  feared  to  disappoint  you.    This 


76  VERANILDA 

night  I  have  hardly  slept,  lest  I  should  miss  the  moment. 
Should  I  not  return  very  soon,  O  Basil  ? ' 

'  You  shall ;  though  your  going  will  make  the  sky  black  as 
when  Auster  blows.  But  it  is  not  for  long.  A  few  days ' 

He  broke  off  with  the  little  laugh  of  a  triumphing  lover. 

'  A  few  days  ? '  responded  Veranilda,  timidly  questioning. 

'We  wait  only  until  that  dark  ship  has  sailed  for  Rome.' 

'  Does  Aurelia  know  that  you  purpose  it  so  soon  ? '  asked 
Veranilda. 

'  Why  ?    Has  she  seemed  to  you  to  wish  otherwise  ? ' 

'  She  has  never  spoken  of  it. — And  afterwards  ?  Shall  we 
remain  here,  Basil  ? ' 

'For  no  long  time.  Here  I  am  but  a  guest.  We  must 
dwell  where  I  am  lord  and  you  lady  of  all  about  us.' 

He  told  her  of  his  possessions,  of  the  great  house  in  Rome 
with  the  villa  at  Arpinum.  Then  he  asked  her,  playfully, 
but  with  a  serious  purpose  in  his  mind,  which  of  the  two  she 
would  prefer  for  an  abode. 

'  I  have  no  choice  but  yours,'  she  replied.  '  Where  it 
seems  good  to  my  dear  lord  to  dwell,  there  shall  I  be  at  rest.' 

'We  must  be  safe  against  our  enemies,'  said  Basil,  with 
graver  countenance. 

1  Our  enemies  ? ' 

'  Has  not  Aurelia  talked  to  you  of  the  war  ?  You  know 
that  the  Gothic  king  is  conquering  all  before  him,  coming 
from  the  north?' 

Veranilda  looked  into  her  lover's  face  with  a  tender  anxiety. 

'And  you  fear  him,  O  Basil?  It  is  he  that  is  our 
enemy  ? ' 

'Not  so,  sweetest.  No  foe  of  mine  is  he  who  wears  the 
crown  of  Theodoric.  They  whom  I  fear  and  abhor  are  the 
slaves  of  Justinian,  the  robber  captains  who  rule  at  Ravenna 
and  in  Rome.' 

As  she  heard  him,  Veranilda  trembled  with  joy.  She 
caught  his  hand,  and  bent  over  it,  and  kissed  it. 

'  Had  I  been  the  enemy  of  Totila,'  said  Basil,  '  could  you 
still  have  loved  me  as  a  wife  should  love  ? ' 


HERESY 


77 


1 1  had  not  asked  myself/  she  answered,  c  for  it  was  need- 
less. When  I  look  on  you,  I  think  neither  of  Roman  nor 
of  Goth.' 

Basil  spoke  of  his  hope  that  Rome  might  be  restored  to 
the  same  freedom  it  had  enjoyed  under  the  great  king. 
Then  they  would  dwell  together  in  the  sacred  city.  That, 
too,  was  Veranilda's  desire;  for  on  her  ear  the  name  of 
Rome  fell  with  a  magic  sound;  all  her  life  she  had  heard 
it  spoken  reverentially,  with  awe,  yet  the  city  itself  she  had 
never  seen.  Rome,  she  knew,  was  vast ;  there,  it  seemed  to 
her,  she  would  live  unobserved,  unthought  of  save  by  him 
she  loved.  Seclusion  from  all  strangers,  from  all  who,  learn-  w  - 
ing  her  origin,  would  regard  her  slightingly,  was  what  her  v 
soul  desired. 

Day  had  broken ;  behind  the  mountains  there  was  light 
of  the  sun.  Once  more  they  held  each  other  heart  to  heart, 
and  Veranilda  hastened  through  the  garden  to  regain  her 
chamber.  Basil  stood  for  some  minutes  lost  in  a  delicious 
dream;  the  rising  day  made  his  face  beautiful,  his  eyes 
gleamed  with  an  unutterable  rapture.  At  length  he 
sighed  and  awoke  and  looked  about  hi™  -AL  "^  great 
distance,  as  though  just  issued  from  theQlex  wooc^  moved 
a  man's  figure.  It  approached  very  slowly^  and  Basil 
watched  until  he  saw  that  the  man  was  bent  as  if  with  age, 
and  had  black  garments  such  as  were  worn  by  wandering 
mendicant  monks.  Carelessly  he  turned,  and  went  his  way 
back  to  the  villa. 

An  hour  later,  Aurelia  learnt  that  a  '  holy  man,'  a  pilgrim 
much  travel  worn,  was  begging  to  be  admitted  to  her.  She 
refused  to  see  him.  Still  he  urged  his  entreaty,  declaring 
that  he  had  a  precious  gift  for  her  acceptance,  and  an  im- 
portant message  for  her  ear.  At  length  he  was  allowed  to 
enter  the  atrium,  and  Aurelia  saw  before  her  a  man  in  black 
monkish  habit,  his  body  bent  and  tremulous,  but  evidently 
not  with  age,  for  his  aspect  otherwise  was  that  of  middle 
life.  What,  she  asked  briefly  and  coldly,  was  his  business 
with  her?  Thereupon  the  monk  drew  from  his  bosom  a 


78  VERANILDA 

small  wrappage  of  tissues,  which  when  unfolded  disclosed  a 
scrap  of  something  hairy. 

'    'This,  noble  lady,'  said  the  monk,  in  a  voice  reverently 
^.subdued,  '  is  from  the  camel-hair  garment  of  Holy  John  the 
\\Baptist.     I  had  it  of  a  hermit  in  the  Egyptian  desert,  who 
ylnot  many  days  after  I  quitted  him  was  for  his  sanctity  borne 
}^up  to  heaven  by  angels,  and  knew  not  death.' 
Aurelia  viewed  the  relic  with  emotion. 
*  Why,'  she  asked,  '  do  you  offer  it  to  me  ? ' 
The  monk  drew  a  step  nearer  and  whispered : 
'  Because  I  know  that  you,  like  him  from  whom  I  received 
are  of  the  true  faith.' 

Aurelia  observed  him  closely.     His  robe  was  ragged  and 
Ithy ;  his  bare  feet  were  thick  with  the  dust  of  the  road  \ 
is  visage,  much  begrimed,  wore  an  expression  of  habitual 
suffering,  and  sighs  as  of  pain  frequently  broke  from  him. 
The  hand  by  which  he  supported  himself  on  a  staff  trembled 
as  with  weakness. 

'  You  are  not  a  presbyter  ? '  she  said  in  an  undertone,  after 
a  glance  at  his  untonsured  head. 

'  I  am  unworthy  of  the  meanest  order  in  the  Church.  In 
pilgrimings  and  fastings  I  do  penance  for  a  sin  of  youth.  You 
see  how  wasted  is  my  flesh.' 

'  What,  then,'  asked  Aurelia,  c  was  the  message  you  said 
.  j  you  bore  for  me  ? ' 

M     '  This.     Though  I  myself  have  no  power  to  perform  the 
,  Vacraments  of  our  faith,  I  tend  upon   one   who  has.      He 
ies  not  far  from   here,   like   myself  sick  and   weary,   and, 
)ecause  of  a  vow,  may  not  come  within  the  precincts  of  any 
Iwelling.     In  Macedonia,  oppressed  by  our  persecutors,  he 
vas  long  imprisoned,  and  so   sorely  tormented  that,  in  a 
moment  when   the  Evil  One   prevailed  over   his  flesh,   he 
denied  the  truth.     This  sin  gave  him  liberty,  but  scarce  had 
he  come  forth  when  a  torment  of  the  soul,  far  worse  than 
that  of  his  body,  fell  upon  him.     He  was  delivered  over  to 
Demon,  and,  being  yet  alive,  saw  about  him  the  fires  of 
henna.     Thus,  for  a  season,  did  he  suffer  things  unspeak- 


he 


HERESY  79 

able,  wandering  in  desert  places,  ahungered,  athirst,  faint 
unto  death,  yet  not  permitted  to  die.  One  night  of  storm, 
he  crept  for  shelter  into  the  ruins  of  a  heathen  temple.  Of 
a  sudden,  a  dreadful  light  shone  about  him,  and  he  beheld 
the  Demon  in  the  guise  of  that  false  god,  who  fell  upon  him 
and  seemed  like  to  slay  him.  But  Sisinnius — so  is  the  holy 
man  named — strove  in  prayer  and  in  conjuration,  yea,  strove 
hours,  until  the  crowing  of  the  cock,  and  thus  sank  into 
slumber.  And  while  he  slept,  an  angel  of  the  Most  High 
appeared  before  him,  and  spoke  words  which  I  know  not. 
Since  then,  Sisinnius  wanders  from  land  to  land,  seeking  out 
the  temples  of  the  heathen  which  have  not  been  purified, 
and  passing  the  night  in  strife  with  the  Powers  of  Darkness, 
wherein  he  is  ever  victorious.' 

With  intent  look  did  Aurelia  listen  to  this  narrative.  At 
its  close,  she  asked  eagerly : 

'This  man  of  God  has  sent  you  to  me? ' 

'Moved  by  a  vision — for  in  the  sleep  which  follows  upon 
his  struggle  it  is  often  granted  him  to  see  beyond  this 
world.  He  bids  you  resist  temptation,  and  be  of  go$T 
courage.' 

'  Know  you  what  this  bidding  means  ? '  inquired  the  awed 
woman,  gazing  into  the  monk's  eyes  till  they  fell. 

'I  know  nothing.  I  am  but  a  follower  of  the  holy 
Sisinnius — an  unworthy  follower.' 

1  May  I  not  speak  with  him? ' 

The  monk  had  a  troubled  look. 

'  I  have  told  you,  lady,  that  he  must  not,  by  reason  of  his 
vow,  enter  a  human  dwelling.' 

'  But  may  I  not  go  to  him  ? '  she  urged.  '  May  I  not  seek 
him  in  his  solitude,  guided  by  you  ?  ' 

To  this,  said  the  monk,  he  could  give  no  reply  until  he 
had  spoken  with  Sisinnius.  He  promised  to  do  so,  and  to 
return,  though  he  knew  not  at  what  hour,  nor  even  whether 
it  would  be  this  day.  And,  after  demanding  many  assurances 
that  he  would  come  again  as  speedily  as  might  be,  Aurelia 
allowed  the  messenger  to  depart. 


8o  VERANILDA 

Meanwhile  Basil  and  Marcian  have  spent  an  hour  in  talk, 
the  result  of  which  was  a  decision  that  Marcian  should  again 
repair  to  the  stronghold  of  Venantius,  and  persuade  him  to 
come  over  to  Surrentum.  When  his  friend  had  ridden  forth 
Basil  sought  conversation  with  Aurelia,  whom  he  found  in 
a  mood  unlike  any  she  had  yet  shown  to  him,  a  mood  of 
dreamy  trouble,  some  suppressed  emotion  appearing  in 
her  look  and  in  her  speech.  He  began  by  telling  her  of 
Venantius,  but  this  seemed  to  interest  her  less  than  he  had 
expected. 

'Cousin,'  he  resumed,  'I  have  a  double  thought  in  desir- 
ing that  Venantius  should  come  hither.  It  is  not  only  that 
I  may  talk  with  him  of  the  war,  and  learn  his  hopes,  but 
that  I  may  secure  a  safe  retreat  for  Veranilda  when  she  is  my 
wife,  and  for  you,  dear  cousin,  if  you  desire  it.' 

He  spoke  as  strongly  as  he  could  without  revealing  the 
secret  danger,  of  the  risks  to  which  they  would  all  be  exposed 
when  rumours  of  his  marriage  reached  the  governor  of  Cumae, 
or  the  Greeks  in  Neapolis.  Until  the  Goths  reached  Cam- 
fonia,  a  Roman  here  who  fell  under  suspicion  of  favouring 
them  must  be  prepared  either  to  flee  or  to  defend  himself. 
PDefence  of  this  villa  was  impossible  even  against  the  smallest 
body  of  soldiers,  but  within  the  walls,  raised  and  fortified  by 
Venantius,  a  long  siege  might  be  safely  sustained. 

'  It  is  true,'  said  Aurelia  at  length,  as  if  rousing  herself 
from  her  abstraction,  'that  we  must  think  of  safety.  But 
you  are  not  yet  wedded.' 

'  A  few  days  hence  I  shall  be.' 

1  Have  you  forgotten,'  she  resumed,  meeting  his  resolute 
smile, '  what  still  divides  you  from  Veranilda  ? ' 

'  You  mean  the  difference  of  religion.  Tell  me,  did  that 
stand  in  the  way  of  your  marriage  with  a  Goth  ? ' 

She  cast  down  her  eyes  and  was  silent. 

'Was  your  marriage,'  Basil  went  on,  '  blessed  by  a  Catholic 
or  by  an  Arian  presbyter  ? ' 

'  By  neither,'  replied  Aurelia  gently. 

'Then  why  may  it  not  be  so  with  me  and  Veranilda? 


HERESY  81 

And  so  it  shall  be,  lady  cousin,'  he  added  cheerily.  'Our 
good  Decius  will  be  gone ;  we  await  the  sailing  of  the  ship  j 
but  you  and  Marcian,  and  perhaps  Venantius,  will  be  our 
witnesses.' 

For  the  validity  of  Christian  wedlock  no  religious  rite 
was  necessary:  the  sufficient,  the  one  indispensable,  con- 
dition was  mutual  consent.  The  Church  favoured  a  union 
which  had  been  sanctified  by  the  oblation  and  the  blessing, 
but  no  ecclesiastical  law  imposed  this  ceremony.  As  in  the 
days  of  the  old  religion,  a  man  wedded  his  bride  by  putting 
the  ring  upon  her  finger  and  delivering  her  dowry  in  a  written 
document,  before  chosen  witnesses.  Aurelia  knew  that  even 
as  this  marriage  had  satisfied  her,  so  would  it  suffice  to 
Veranilda,  whom  a  rapturous  love  made  careless  of  doctrinal 
differences.  She  perceived,  moreover,  that  Basil  was  in  no 
mood  for  religious  discussion ;  there  was  little  hope  that  he 
would  consent  to  postpone  his  marriage  on  such  an  account ; 
yet  to  convert  Basil  to  '  heresy '  was  a  fine  revenge  she  would 
not  willingly  forego,  her  own  bias  to  Arianism  being  stronger 
than  ever  since  the  wrong  she  believed  herself  to  have 
suffered  at  the  hands  of  the  deacon,  and  the  insult  cast  at  her 
by  her  long-hated  aunt.  After  years  of  bitterness,  her  triumph 
seemed  assured.  It  was  much  to  have  inherited  from  her 
father,  to  have  expelled  Petronilla ;  but  the  marriage  of  Basil 
with  a  Goth,  his  renunciation  of  Catholicism,  and  with  it  the 
Imperial  cause,  were  greater  things,  and  together  with  their 
attainment  she  foredreamt  the  greatest  of  all,  Totila's  complete 
conquest  of  Italy.  She  saw  herself  mistress  in  the  Anician 
palace  at  Rome,  commanding  vast  wealth,  her  enemies  mute, 
powerless,  submissive  before  her.  Then,  if  it  seemed  good 
to  her,  she  would  again  wed,  and  her  excited  imagination 
deigned  to  think  of  no  spouse  save  him  whose  alliance  would 
make  her  royal. 

Providential  was  the  coming  of  the  holy  Sisinnius.  Beyond 
doubt  he  had  the  gift  of  prophecy.  From  him  she  would 
not  only  receive  the  consolations  of  religion,  but  might  learn 
what  awaited  her.  Very  slowly  passed  the  hours  until  the 

F 


82  VERANILDA 

reappearance  of  the  black  monk.  He  came  when  day  was 
declining,  and  joyfully  she  learnt  that  Sisinnius  permitted 
her  to  visit  him ;  it  must  be  on  the  morrow  at  the  second 
hour,  the  place  a  spot  in  the  ilex  wood,  not  far  away,  whither 
the  monk  would  guide  her.  But  she  must  come  alone;  were 
she  accompanied,  even  at  a  distance,  by  any  attendant, 
Sisinnius  would  refuse  to  see  her.  To  all  the  conditions 
Aurelia  readily  consented,  and  bade  the  monk  meet  her  at 
the  appointed  hour  by  the  breach  in  her  garden  wall. 

On  the  morrow  there  was  no  glory  of  sunrise;  clouds  hung 
heavy,  and  a  sobbing  wind  shook  the  dry  leaves  of  the  vine. 
But  at  the  second  hour,  after  pretence  of  idling  about  the 
garden,  Aurelia  saw  approach  the  black,  bowed  figure,  with  a 
gesture  bade  him  go  before,  and  followed.  She  was  absent 
not  long  enough  to  excite  the  remark  of  her  household.  In 
going  forth  she  had  been  pale  with  agitation ;  at  her  return 
she  had  a  fire  in  her  cheeks,  a  lustre  in  her  eyes,  which  told 
of  hopes  abundantly  fulfilled.  At  once  she  sought  Veranilda, 
to  whom  she  had  not  yet  spoken  of  the  monk's  visit.  At 
this  juncture  the  coming  even  of  an  ordinary  priest  of  the 
Arian  faith  would  have  been  more  than  welcome  to  them, 
living  as  they  perforce  did  without  office  or  sacrament ;  but 
Sisinnius,  declared  Aurelia,  was  a  veritable  man  of  God,  one 
who  had  visions  and  saw  into  the  future,  one  whom  merely 
to  behold  was  a  sacred  privilege.  She  had  begged  his  per- 
mission to  visit  him  again,  with  Veranilda,  and  he  had  con- 
sented ;  but  a  few  days  must  pass  before  that,  as  the  holy 
man  was  called  away  she  knew  not  whither.  '  When  he  sum- 
moned them  they  must  go  forth  in  early  morning,  to  a  certain 
cave  near  at  hand,  where  Sisinnius  would  say  mass  and 
administer  to  them  the  communion.  Hearing  such  news, 
Veranilda  gladdened. 

'Will  the  holy  man  reveal  our  fate  to  us  ?'  she  asked,  with 
a  child's  simplicity. 

'To  me  he  has  already  uttered  a  prophetic  word,'  answered 
Aurelia,  'but  I  may  not  repeat  it,  no,  not  even  to  you. 
Enough  that  it  has  filled  my  soul  with  wonder  and  joy.' 


HERESY  83 

'  May  that  joy  also  be  mine  ! '  said  Veranilda,  pressing  her 
hands  together. 

This  afternoon,  when  Basil  sat  with  her  and  Aurelia,  she 
took  her  cithern,  and  in  a  low  voice  sang  songs  she  had 
heard  her  mother  sing,  in  the  days  before  shame  and  sorrow 
fell  upon  Theodenantha.  There  were  old  ballads  of  the 
Goths,  oftener  stern  than  tender,  but  to  the  listeners,  ignorant 
of  her  tongue,  Veranilda's  singing  made  them  sweet  as  lover's 
praise.  One  little  song  was  Greek ;  it  was  all  she  knew  of 
that  language,  and  the  sole  inheritance  that  had  come  to  her 
from  her  Greek-loving  grandparent,  the  King  Theodahad. 

Auster  was  blowing ;  great  lurid  clouds  rolled  above  the 
dark  green  waters,  and  at  evening  rain  began  to  fall.  Through 
the  next  day,  and  the  day  after  that,  the  sky  still  lowered ; 
there  was  thunder  of  waves  upon  the  shore ;  at  times  a  mist 
swept  down  from  the  mountains,  which  enveloped  all  in 
gloom.  To  Basil  and  Veranilda  it  mattered  nothing.  Where 
they  sat  together  there  was  sunshine,  and  before  them  gleamed 
an  eternity  of  cloudless  azure. 


tf  nfg  all  was  made  ready  for  the  sailing 


_ 

-(Coffined  in  leao^he  body  of  Maximus  awaited  only  a  return 
of  fine  weather  for  its  conveyance  to  the  vessel.  When  at 
length  calm  fell  upon  the  sea,  and  after  a  still  night  of  gentle 
rain  the  day  broke  radiantly,  all  Surrentum  was  in  movement 
between  church  and  harbour.  Mass  having  been  said,  the 
bishop  himself  led  the  procession  down  the  hollow  way  and 
through  the  chasm  in  the  cliffs  seaward,  whilst  psalms  were 

^chanted  ana  incense  burnt*)  Carried  in  her  litter,  Petronilla 
followed^  the  bier  ;  beside  her  walked  Basil  and  Decius.  Only 
by  conscious  effort  could  these  two  subdue  their  visages  to  a 
becoming  sadness  ;  for  Basil  thought  of  his  marriage,  Decius 

\of  Rome  and  his  library.    Nor  did  Petronilla  wear  an  aspect  of 

Jfery  profound  gloom;  at  moments  she  forgot  herself,  and 
singular  animation  appeared  on  her  proud  features  ;  it  was 
though  some  exultancy  took  hold  of  her  mind. 
That  Aurelia  held  apart,  that  the  daughter  gave  no  testi- 
ony  of  reverence  for  a  father's  remains,  caused  such 
murmuring  in  the  crowd  of  Surrentines  :  her  heresy  seemed 
t6  be  made  more  notorious,  more  abominable,  by  this  neglect. 
At  Surrentum,  Arianism  had  never  been  known  ;  no  Goth 
had  ever  dwelt  here  ;  and  since  Aurelia's  arrival  public  opinion 
had  had  time  to  gather  force  against  her.  It  was  believed 
that  she  had  driven  forth  with  insults  the  most  noble 
Petronilla,  that  exemplar  of  charity  and  of  a  saintly  life. 
Worse  still  was  the  rumour,  now  generally  believed,  that  the 
Senator's  daughter  had  obtained  her  inheritance  by  wicked 

84 


THE  SNARE  85 

hypocrisy,  by  a  false  show  of  return  to  the  true  faith.  Being 
herself  so  evil,  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  that  she  corrupted 
those  who  fell  under  her  influence ;  the  young  lord  Basil,  for 
instance,  who,  incredibleasit  sounded,  was  said  to  be  on  the 
point  of  espousing  atfJbthic  damseUa  mysterious  attendant* 
upon  Aurelia,  of  whom"  SUangu  stories  were  rife.  Talk 
these  things  made  no  little  agitation  in  the  town  when  cere; 
monies  were  over  and  the  coffin  had  been  embarked.  T 
generality  threw  up  their  hands,  and  cried  shame,  and  aske 
why  the  bishop  did  not  take  some  action  in  so  grave  a  scand 
But  here  and  there  folk  whispered  together  in  a  different  ton 
with  winkings  and  lips  compressed,  and  nods  significant 
menace.  Patience !  Wait  a  day  or  two,  and  they  would  see 
what  they  would  see.  Heaven  was  not  regardless  of  iniquity. 

Scarce  had  the  ship  weighed  anchor,  to  be  wafted  across 
the  bay  by  a  gentle  wind,  when  Petronilla  started  on  her 
land  journey  for  Rome.  The  great  chariot,  the  baggage,  the 
servants  riding,  made  fresh  commotion  in  Surrentum ;  many 
accompanied  the  great  lady  along  the  winding  road  until  they 
were  weary  and  their  curiosity  satisfied.  To  this  obsequious 
escort  Petronilla  uttered  certain  words  which  before  evening 
were  repeated  throughout  the  town.  'Let  us  forgive  our 
enemies,'  she  said,  with  that  air  of  hers,  at  once  so  grand 
and  so  devout — '  let  us  forgive  our  enemies,  but  let  us  omit 
no  means,  however  rigorous,  of  saving  their  souls';  and  of 
those  who  reported  the  saying,  some  winked  and  nodded 
more  significantly  than  ever. 

Just  before  sunset  on  this  same  day  there  was  trampling  of 
hoofs  along  the  road  ascending  to  the  villa,  as  two  horsemen, 
with  a  dozen  followers,  some  on  horses,  some  on  mules,  rode 
up.  Summoned  to  the  atrium,  Basil  greeted  the  return  of 
Marcian,  and  looked  with  curiosity  at  the  man  standing 
beside  him,  who  could  be  no  other  than  Venantius.  A  tall 
and  comely  man,  wearing  a  casque  and  a  light  breastplate, 
his  years  not  more  than  thirty,  rather  slim,  yet  evidently 
muscular  and  vigorous,  he  had  a  look  of  good-humoured 
determination,  and  the  tones  in  which  he  replied  to  Basil's 


VERANILDA 


mj 
ancc 
of  an 
mand. 
shoot  witl 
lance  or  thr} 
no  fear  for  the 
chaste  by  prw 
when  I  had 
a  smile — ' 

Basil 
imitatic 
did,  al 
stroi 
of  R( 
indeec 
the 
were  si 

•"^.'"^V"' 

troop,  an^fcai  diisJ 
down  to  swDerA 

Basil  had  fc*fod 
•^\ 

heard  with  greafcsSatiJ 
promised  to  recel^hirn>eiarly"oi 
'The  lady  AureT^'-  — ^s-- 
Venantius,  when  Basil^fcoke  of  her  at  table 


e  both  sober  aiid 
ere  was  a  time 
here ' — he  scowled 


THE   SNARE  87 

added  a  remark,  but  paused  with  a  look  at  the  attendant 
slaves.  '  Her  illustrious  father,'  he  went  on,  '  I  spoke  with 
when  I  was  young.  But  for  the  illness  of  Maximus  I  should 
have  ventured  hither  during  this  year  gone  by,  notwithstanding 
some  difference  in  our  view  of  things ;  or  rather,  to  make  sure 
whether  there  really  was  as  much  difference  as  I  supposed.' 

'  Perchance  you  would  have  found  that  there  was  not,'  said 
Basil.  '  Certainly  not  towards  the  end.' 

'  May  his  soul  repose  !  He  had  the  bearing  which  suited 
with  his  noble  name — a  true  Anicius  to  look  upon.  If  Rome 
have  need  in  these  times  of  another  breed  of  citizens — and 
who  can  gainsay  that? — she  will  not  forget  such  men  as 
he,  who  lived  with  dignity  when  they  could  do  no  more. 
You,  my  dear  lord ' — he  turned  towards  Basil — '  Anicius 
though  you  are,  see  another  way  before  you,  what  ? ' 

They  talked  far  into  the  night.  When  he  spoke  of  the 
Imperial  conquerors — '  Greeklings '  he  called  them — Venan- 
tius  gave  vent  to  his  wrath  and  scorn.  The  Goths  were  right 
when  they  asked  what  had  ever  come  out  of  Greece  save 
mimes  and  pirates ;  land-thieves  they  might  have  added,  for 
what  else  were  the  generals  of  Justinian  with  their  pillaging 
hordes  ?  They  dared  to  speak  of  the  Goths  as  barbarians — 
these  Herules,  Isaurians,  Huns,  Armenians,  and  Teutons ! 
— of  the  Goths,  whose  pride  it  had  so  long  been  to  defend 
Roman  civilisation,  and  even  to  restore  the  Roman  edifices. 
What  commander  among  them  could  compare  with  Totila, 
brave,  just,  generous  ? 

'  By  the  Holy  Mother ! '  he  cried,  with  a  great  gesture,  '  if 
I  were  not  wedded  to  a  wife  I  love,  who  has  borne  me  already 
three  boys  as  healthy  as  wolf  cubs,  I  would  follow  your 
example,  O  Basil,  and  take  to  myself  a  blue-eyed  daughter  of 
that  noble  race.  They  are  heretics,  why  yes,  but  as  far  as  I 
can  make  out  they  pray  much  as  I  do,  and  by  heaven's  grace 
may  yet  be  brought  to  hold  the  truth  as  to  the  Three-in-One. 
When  they  had  the  power,  did  they  meddle  with  our  worship  ? 
Let  every  man  believe  as  he  list,  say  I,  so  that  he  believe 
sincerely,  and  trust  God  against  the  devil.' 


88  VERANILDA 

In  the  stillness  of  their  secluded  abode,  Aurelia  and 
Veranilda  went  to  rest  earlier  than  usual  this  evening,  for  they 
were  to  arise  before  the  dawn.  This  afternoon  they  had 
been  visited  by  the  black  monk,  who  announced  the  return 
of  Sisinnius,  and  invited  them  to  the  promised  mass  on  the 
morrow ;  and  such  was  their  agitation  in  the  foretaste  of  this 
religious  ecstasy,  as  well  as  in  the  hope  of  having  their  future 
revealed  to  them,  that  neither  slept  much  during  the  night. 
Not  long  after  the  crowing  of  the  first  cock,  when  all  was 
silent  and  dark,  Aurelia  stepped,  with  a  lamp  in  her  hand, 
into  the  maiden's  chamber. 

'  Is  it  the  hour  ? '  whispered  Veranilda,  raising  herself. 

'  Not  yet.  I  have  had  a  troubled  dream.  I  dreamt  that 
this  night  the  holy  Sisinnius  had  fought  with  the  demon, 
and  had  been  worsted.  O  Veranilda  ! ' — the  speaker's  voice 
trembled — '  what  may  this  mean  ? ' 

1  Dearest  lady,'  answered  the  other  reassuringly,  '  may  it 
not  be  a  temptation  of  the  demon  himself,  who  at  times  is 
permitted  to  tempt  even  the  holiest  ? ' 

'  And  you,  sweet  ?  You  have  not  dreamt  ? ' 

'Only  of  Basil,'  answered  Veranilda,  with  a  smile  that 
asked  pardon  for  her  happiness. 

They  talked  over  the  disquieting  vision,  whilst  the  little 
lamp-flame,  wavering  in  breaths  of  air,  cast  strange  shadows 
about  the  room.  On  the  walls  were  faded  frescoes,  one 
of  which  represented  the  poetess  Proba  on  her  knees  before 
St.  Agnes.  Impelled  by  her  fears,  Aurelia  of  a  sudden  knelt 
before  this  picture,  and  prayed  silently  to  the  virgin  martyr. 
Then  Veranilda  rose  from  the  couch,  and  knelt  beside  her. 
Having  solaced  their  souls,  they  kissed  each  other  tenderly. 

'You  are  not  afraid,'  whispered  Veranilda,  'that  Basil  may 
be  in  the  garden  when  we  go  forth  ? ' 

'  Basil  ?     Ah,  little  rogue,  have  you  betrayed  yourself  ? ' 

1  Of  a  truth,  dearest  lady,  he  has  been  there  more  than 
once,  but  not,  oh  not  so  early ! ' 

'Nay,  I  hope  not,'  said  Aurelia.  'It  were  scarce 
maidenly ' 


THE   SNARE  89 

'Never,  never  before  the  east  had  broken  for  the  dayspring! 
Never,  I  swear  to  you,  O  my  heart's  friend  ! ' 

1  Then  there  is  small  fear  of  his  interrupting  us  this  morn- 
ing ;  all  the  more  that  he  must  have  sat  late  with  his  friends, 
talking  of  many  things.  I  am  glad  of  the  coming  of  this 
brave  Venantius ;  it  puts  an  end  to  every  peril.' 

They  conversed  on  this  encouraging  theme  until  Aurelia's 
ear  caught  the  sound  of  a  footfall  in  the  gallery.  She  stepped 
forth  and  encountered  a  female  slave,  who  told  her  that 
there  wanted  two  hours  to  dawn ;  it  was  time,  then,  to  set 
forth,  and  a  few  minutes  saw  them  ready.  In  the  garden  they 
were  met  by  the  watchman,  who  carried  a  lantern.  He, 
having  merely  been  ordered  to  stand  in  readiness  at  this 
hour,  and  being  ignorant  of  his  mistress's  intention,  showed 
astonishment  when  he  saw  Aurelia  and  her  companion  bent 
on  going  out.  He  took  it  for  granted  that  he  was  to  accom- 
pany them.  But  at  this  moment  there  appeared  in  the  rays 
of  the  lantern  a  black  figure,  which  had  entered  by  the 
breach  in  the  wall.  Aurelia  whispered  a  few  words  to  her 
watchman,  whose  religion  was  the  same  as  hers,  and  at  once 
he  dropped  to  his  knees. 

'  Peace  be  with  you,  good  brother,'  said  the  monk,  in  his 
feeble  voice,  as  he  drew  a  lantern  from  beneath  his  cloak. 
'You  may  not  accompany  us ;  but  have  no  fear.  The  way  is 
short.' 

Forthwith  he  turned,  and  Aurelia,  holding  Veranilda's  hand, 
followed  where  he  lighted  the  way.  For  a  few  minutes  they 
pursued  a  level  path,  then,  passing  between  myrtles,  began  to 
descend  the  seaward  slope.  The  ground  was  rough,  but  the 
monk,  going  before,  marked  the  places  for  their  footing.  A 
few  minutes  thus,  and  they  reached  trees,  black  against  a  sky 
sown  with  stars  and  overshimmered  by  a  wasted  moon. 
Veranilda,  who  was  trembling,  clung  to  her  companion's 
arm. 

'  How  much  further  ? '  asked  Aurelia,  striving  to  make  her 
voice  firm.  '  This  is  not  the  way  by  which  I  came  before.' 

'  Scarce  fifty  steps.    See  you  not  the  light  yonder  ? ' 


90  VERANILDA 

Among  the  trees  was  perceptible  a  faint  shining.  Hand 
tight  clasped  in  hand,  the  two  moved  forward  over  thick 
herbage,  and  still  descended.  They  drew  near  to  the  light, 
and  saw  that  it  issued  from  a  little  cave.  Within  stood  a 
man,  bent  as  if  with  age  and  infirmities,  his  face  half-hidden 
under  a  cowl.  When  the  visitors  were  near,  he  stretched 
forth  his  arms,  murmuring  words  of  welcome,  and  the  two 
knelt  devoutly  before  him. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  then  the  cowled  man  again 
spoke,  in  a  voice  firmer  and  less  senile. 

'  My  daughters,  you  have  come  hither  through  the  gloom 
of  night  and  over  rough  places,  led  by  a  faithful  guide,  whom 
you  followed  without  doubt  or  fear.  You  will  have  your 
reward.  The  darkness,  the  stones  that  made  your  feet  to 
stumble,  what  are  these  but  symbols  of  your  spiritual  state  ? 
In  your  blindness,  you  sought  one  blind  as  yourselves,  to 
follow  whom  was  to  walk  in  darkness  eternal.  But  a  bene- 
ficent Power  has  watched  over  you,  guiding  your  steps  in  the 
better  way,  whereof  you  recked  not.' 

Aurelia  and  Veranilda  had  raised  their  heads,  and  were 
gazing  at  him,  in  fearful  astonishment. 

'  Be  not  troubled,'  he  went  on,  taking  a  step  forward  and 
speaking  in  a  voice  strong  and  clear.  '  Though  unworthy,  I 
am  a  priest  of  the  faith  in  which  you,  Aurelia,  were  baptized. 
In  my  hands  you  will  suffer  no  harm,  no  indignity.  Be  still, 
be  silent.  Behind  you  stand  those  who  will  not  permit  you 
to  flee,  but  who  will  conduct  you  hence  as  if  they  were  your 
own  attendants  if  you  do  but  follow  me,  as  you  needs  must, 
without  cry  or  resistance.' 

Aurelia  turned  and  saw  a  number  of  figures  whom  the  dim 
light  showed  to  be  men  with  weapons.  A  moan  of  anguish 
escaped  her  lips.  Clinging  to  her  in  terrified  silence,  Veranilda 
seemed  about  to  sink  to  the  ground. 

'Our  way,'  pursued  the  priest,  who  was  now  revealed  as 
neither  old  nor  infirm,  'is  down  to  the  harbour.  Not  far 
from  here  a  litter  awaits  you ;  summon  your  strength  for  the 
short  effort  over  rugged  ground.  Speak  words  of  comfort  to 


THE  SNARE  91 

this  maiden;  she  also  will  ere  long  walk  in  the  light,  and 
will  be  grateful  to  those  who  rescued  her  from  the  path  of 
destruction.  Think  not  to  escape  us  when  we  pass  through 
the  city ;  it  were  vain  to  cry  aloud ;  not  a  man  in  Surrentum 
would  raise  his  hand  to  release  you,  knowing,  as  all  do,  that 
we  confine  your  body  only  to  free  your  soul  from  the  bonds 
of  the  Enemy.' 

'Whither  are  you  taking  us?'  asked  Aurelia,  suddenly 
commanding  herself,  and  speaking  with  cold  scorn. 

'That  you  will  know  before  the  evening.  Enough  for  the 
present  that  you  will  travel  without  fatigue  and  without  danger. 
Follow  now  whither  I  lead.' 

He  moved  forward,  and  the  armed  men,  half  a  dozen  in 
number,  among  whom  stood  the  black  monk,  closed  about 
the  prisoners.  Seeing  the  futility  of  any  resistance,  Aurelia 
whispered  to  her  companion  such  words  of  encouragement 
as  she  could  find,  and  supported  her  with  her  arms.  But 
Veranilda  had  overcome  the  first  terror  which  made  her 
droop. 

'  Basil  will  find  and  release  us,'  she  whispered  back. 
'While  he  has  life,  Basil  will  not  forsake  us.' 

And  with  unfaltering  steps  she  moved  onward,  holding 
Aurelia's  hand. 

Their  path,  illumined  by  lanterns,  the  guards  presently 
issued  from  the  wood,  and  came  to  the  place  where  the  litter 
was  waiting.  Hence  the  captives  were  borne  rapidly  towards 
the  haven.  As  they  entered  the  city  gates,  Aurelia  raised  the 
curtain  which  concealed  her,  and  looked  out  at  the  men  on 
watch ;  words  exchanged  between  them  and  her  conductors 
only  confirmed  what  the  priest  had  said,  and  made  her 
understand  that  she  was  powerless  amid  enemies. 

'Are  we  not  to  have  a  look  at  the  Gothic  beauty?'  cried 
one  fellow,  when  the  litter  was  passing. 

'  Peace ! '  answered  the  priest  sternly ;  and  nothing  more 
was  said. 

Through  the  streets  they  were  followed  by  a  few  persons. 
These,  calling  to  each  other,  collected  at  length  a  small 


92  VERANILDA 

crowd,  which  hung  about  the  litter  when  it  reached  the  place 
of  embarkation.  Here  torches  were  burning;  their  red  glare 
fell  upon  angry  or  mocking  faces,  and  every  moment  the 
crowd  increased.  With  utmost  speed  the  prisoners  were 
passed  into  a  little  boat,  then  rowed  to  a  vessel  lying  at  the 
harbour  mouth.  As  the  ship  hoisted  sail,  dawn  began  to 
glimmer  over  the  flank  of  Vesuvius. 


CHAPTER    IX 

CHORSOMAN 

FEARFUL  of  sleeping  till  after  sunrise,  Basil  had  bidden  Felix 
arouse  him  this  morning ;  and,  as  he  had  much  to  talk  of  with 
Veranilda,  he  betook  himself  to  the  garden  very  early. 

Aurelia's  watchman  was  standing  without,  gazing  anxiously 
now  this  way,  now  that,  surprised  by  his  mistress's  failure  to 
return ;  on  the  appearance  of  Basil  he  withdrew,  but  only  to 
a  spot  whence  he  could  survey  the  garden.  All  impatience, 
the  lover  waited,  as  minute  after  minute  slowly  passed.  Dawn 
was  broadening  to  day,  but  Veranilda  came  not.  An  agony 
of  disappointment  seized  upon  him,  and  he  stood  at  length 
in  the  attitude  of  one  sickening  with  despair.  Then  a  foot- 
step approached,  and  he  saw  the  slave  whose  watch  he  had 
relieved  come  forward  with  so  strange  a  look  that  Basil  could 
only  stare  at  him. 

'  My  lord,'  said  the  man,  '  there  is  one  at  the  gate  of  the 
villa  who  brings  I  know  not  what  news  for  you.' 

'  One  at  the  gate  ?  News  ? '  echoed  Basil,  his  heart  sinking 
with  dread  anticipation.  'What  mean  you,  fellow?' 

'Most  noble,  I  know  nothing,'  stammered  the  frightened 
slave.  'I  beseech  your  greatness  to  inquire.  They  say — I 
know  not  what ' 

Basil  sped  across  the  garden  and  into  Aurelia's  dwelling. 
Here  he  found  a  group  of  servants  talking  excitedly  together; 
at  view  of  him,  they  fell  back  as  if  fear-stricken.  From  one, 
Aurelia's  old  nurse,  rose  a  wail  of  distress ;  upon  her  Basil 
rushed,  grasped  her  by  the  arm,  and  sternly  demanded  what 
had  happened.  Dropping  to  her  knees  with  a  shrill  cry,  the 

93 


94  VERANILDA 

woman  declared  that  Aurelia  had  vanished,  that  some  one 
from  the  city  had  seen  her  carried  away  before  dawn. 

'  Alone  ? '  asked  Basil  in  a  terrible  voice. 

'  Lord,  I  know  not,'  wailed  the  woman,  grovelling  at  his  feet. 

'  Is  Veranilda  in  her  chamber  ? '  he  asked  violently. 

'Gone!'  replied  a  faint  voice  from  amid  the  group  of 
servants. 

'Where  is  this  messenger?' 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  sprang  forward.  In  the 
portico  which  led  to  the  villa  he  heard  his  name  shouted, 
and  he  knew  the  voice  for  Marcian's  ;  another  moment  and 
Marcian  himself  appeared,  pale,  agitated. 

'  Why  do  you  seek  me  ? '  cried  Basil. 

'  You  come  from  yonder ?  Have  you  seen  Aurelia?  Then 
it  is  true.' 

Marcian  told  the  news  brought  up  from  Surrentum  by 
some  person  unknown,  who,  having  uttered  it  in  the  porter's 
ear,  had  at  once  fled. 

'Go  call  Venantius,'  said  Basil,  when  he  had  heard  the 
brief  story,  '  and  bring  him  straight  to  Aurelia's  house.  They 
are  gone ;  that  slinking  slave  shall  tell  me  how,  or  I  will  tear 
it  out  of  him  with  his  soul.' 

Back  he  rushed,  and  found  the  nurse  still  crouching  on  the 
floor,  wailing.  He  made  her  lead  him  to  her  lady's  chamber, 
and  to  that  of  Veranilda,  where  nothing  unusual  met  their 
eyes.  The  watchman  was  then  summoned ;  he  came  like  one 
half  dead,  and  smote  the  ground  with  his  forehead  before  the 
young  noble,  who  stood  hand  on  dagger.  A  fierce  interroga- 
tory elicited  clear  and  truthful  answers ;  when  Basil  learned 
what  Aurelia  had  whispered  to  her  servant  as  she  went  forth, 
he  uttered  a  groan. 

'  Marcian  !  Venantius  ! '  he  cried,  for  at  that  moment  the 
two  entered  the  atrium.  '  I  understand  it  all.  Why  had  I 
no  fear  of  this  ? ' 

That  Aurelia  had  been  deceived  and  inveigled  by  one 
professing  to  be  an  Arian  priest,  seemed  clear  from  the 
watchman's  story.  For  the  originator  of  the  plot,  Basil  had 


CHORSOMAN  95 

not  far  to  look.  This  was  the  vengeance  of  Petronilla.  But 
whither  the  two  captives  would  be  conveyed,  was  less  easy  to 
conjecture.  Perhaps  to  Cumae.  The  thought  stung  Basil 
to  frenzy,  for,  if  Veranilda  once  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
Greeks,  what  hope  had  he  of  ever  seeing  her  again  ? 

'  Did  Petronilla  know?'  he  asked  of  Marcian. 

'  Who  can  say  ? '  answered  his  friend,  easily  understanding 
the  curtailed  question.  'Like  enough  that  she  had  sent  to 
Cumae  to  learn  all  she  could ;  and  in  that  case,  she  found, 
you  may  be  sure,  ready  instruments  of  her  malice.  Were  it 
not  better,'  Marcian  added  in  an  aside,  'to  tell  Venantius 
what  danger  threatened  Veranilda  ? ' 

The  warlike  Roman,  who,  aroused  on  an  alarm,  had 
instantly  equipped  himself  with  casque  and  sword,  stood 
listening  to  what  passed,  sniffing  the  air  and  rolling  his  eyes 
about  as  if  he  desired  nothing  better  than  a  conflict.  The 
others  now  drew  him  aside  into  a  more  private  place,  and 
made  known  to  him  their  reason  for  fearing  that  the  Gothic 
maiden  had  been  seized  by  emissaries  from  Cumae. 

'Had  I  heard  that  story  before,'  said  Venantius,  all  but 
laughing  with  angry  surprise,  '  Veranilda  would  now  be  safe 
in  my  castle;  for,  instead  of  lingering,  I  should  have  come 
straightway,  to  rescue  her  and  you.  Holy  Peter  and  Paul ! 
You  sported  here,  day  after  day,  knowing  that  the  hounds  of 
Justinian  had  scent  of  the  maid  you  carried  away?  You, 
Basil,  might  commit  such  folly,  for  you  were  blinded  to 
everything  by  your  love.  But,  Marcian,  how  came  you  to  let 
him  loll  in  his  dream  of  security  ?  Why  did  you  conceal  this 
from  me  ?  By  Castor !  it  was  unfriendly  as  it  was  imprudent 
You  robbed  me  of  a  sweet  morsel  when  you  denied  me  the 
chance  of  balking  the  Greeks  in  such  a  matter  as  this.  Nay, 
the  bird  is  caged  at  Cumae,  be  sure.' 

Marcian's  brows  were  knit,  and  his  eyes  cast  down  as  he 
listened  to  this  reproof. 

'  I  had  not  thought  of  Petronilla,'  he  murmured.  '  But  for 
her,  the  danger  was  not  pressing.  That  thick-skulled  Hun 
at  Cumae  easily  let  himself  be  blinded,  as  I  told  you.' 


96  VERANILDA 

'How  could  I  forget,'  cried  Basil,  'that  Petron ilia  would 
risk  damnation  rather  than  lose  her  vengeance  upon  Aurelia ! 
But,'  he  added,  with  sudden  change  from  gloom  to  vehe- 
mence, '  that  woman  is  not  beyond  our  reach.  Only  yester- 
day did  she  set  forth  for  Rome,  and  she  may  have  passed 
the  night  at  Neapolis.  A  horseman  will  easily  overtake  her. 
Felix ! '  he  shouted.  '  Our  horses ! — she  shall  pay  for  this  if 
my  hands  can  get  at  her  throat ! ' 

Felix  appeared,  but  not  in  answer  to  his  master's  summons ; 
he  came  precipitately,  followed  by  a  swarm  of  frightened 
slaves,  to  announce  another  surprise.  Before  the  villa  stood 
a  hostile  multitude,  folk  of  Surrentum,  who  demanded  ad- 
mittance, and,  if  denied,  would  enter  by  force.  At  this  news 
Venantius  hastened  to  muster  his  troop  of  archers  and  spear- 
men. Basil  and  Marcian,  having  made  sure  that  all  entrances 
were  locked  and  barred,  went  to  the  front  gate,  and  through 
a  wicket  surveyed  the  assailants.  These  seemed  to  be  mainly 
of  the  baser  class  ;  they  had  armed  themselves  with  all  sorts 
of  rude  weapons,  which  they  brandished  menacingly,  shouting 
confused  maledictions.  From  the  porter  Basil  learned  that 
those  who  had  first  presented  themselves  at  the  door  had 
demanded  that  '  the  heretics '  should  be  given  up  to  them ; 
and  by  listening  to  the  cries,  he  understood  that  the  wrath  of 
these  people  was  directed  against  the  Arian  servants  brought 
hither  by  Aurelia.  Through  the  wicket  he  held  colloquy  with 
certain  leaders  of  the  throng. 

'The  heretics  !  Yield  to  us  the  accursed  heretics  ! '  shouted 
a  burly  fellow  armed  with  an  ox-goad. 

'  For  what  usage  ? '  asked  Basil. 

*  That 's  as  they  choose.  If  they  like  to  come  before  the 
bishop  and  turn  Christian — why,  a  little  correction  shall 
suffice.  If  not,  they  have  only  themselves  and  the  devil  to 
blame.' 

By  this  time  Venantius  and  his  retainers  stood  in  the  fore- 
court. To  him,  the  routing  of  such  a  rabble  seemed  a  task 
not  worth  speaking  of,  but  some  few  would  no  doubt  be 
slain,  and  Basil  shrank  from  such  extremities. 


CHORSOMAN  97 

'Would  you  give  up  these  trembling  wretches?'  asked 
Venantius  scornfully,  pointing  to  the  four  slaves,  male  and 
female,  Arians  either  by  origin  or  by  conversion  to  please 
Aurelia,  whom  she  had  brought  from  Cumae.  On  their 
knees  they  were  imploring  protection. 

'  Nay,  I  will  fight  for  their  safety,'  Basil  answered.  '  But 
if  we  can  frighten  off  this  tag-rag  without  bloodshed  so  much 
the  better.' 

Venantius  consented  to  make  the  attempt.  On  the  upper 
story  of  the  villa  was  an  open  gallery  looking  over  the 
entrance,  and  fully  visible  from  where  the  invaders  stood. 
Hither  the  armed  men  ascended  and  stood  in  line,  the  bow- 
men with  arrows  on  string.  Their  lord,  advancing  to  the 
parapet,  made  a  signal  demanding  silence,  and  spoke  in  a 
voice  audible  to  every  ear  in  the  throng. 

'  Dogs !  You  came  on  this  errand  thinking  that  the  villa 
was  defenceless.  See  your  mistake !  Each  one  of  these 
behind  me  has  more  arrows  in  store  than  all  your  number, 
and  never  shot  bolt  from  bow  without  piercing  the  mark. 
Off!  Away  with  your  foul  odours  and  your  yelping  throats! 
And  if,  when  you  have  turned  tail,  any  cur  among  you  dares 
to  bark  back  that  I,  Venantius  of  Nuceria,  am  no  true 
Catholic,  he  shall  pay  for  the  lie  with  an  arrow  through  chine 
and  gizzard  !'  This  threat  he  confirmed  with  a  terrific  oath 
of  indisputable  orthodoxy. 

The  effect  was  immediate.  Back  fell  the  first  rank  of 
rioters,  pressing  against  those  in  the  rear;  and  without 
another  cry,  with  only  a  low,  terrified  growling  and  snarling, 
the  crowd  scattered  in  flight. 

'There  again  I  see  Petronilla,'  declared  Basil,  watching 
the  rout  with  fierce  eyes.  '  I  '11  swear  that,  before  starting, 
she  set  this  game  afoot.  I  must  after  her,  Venantius.' 

'Alone?' 

'  Mother  of  God !  if  I  had  your  men !  But  I  will  make 
soldiers  of  my  own.  Some  of  the  likeliest  from  our  folk  here 
shall  follow  me ;  enough  to  stay  that  she-wolf's  journey  till  I 
can  choke  the  truth  out  of  her.' 

G 


98  VERANILDA 

Venantius,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  descending  road  by  which 
the  rabble  had  disappeared,  caught  sight  of  something  which 
held  him  mute  for  a  moment.  Then  he  gave  a  snort  of 
surprise. 

'What's  this?   There  are  no  Greek  soldiers  in  Surrentum.' 

Yet  unmistakable  soldiers  of  the  Imperial  army  were 
approaching.  First  came  into  sight  a  commanding  officer; 
he  rode  a  little  in  advance  of  the  troop,  which  soon  showed 
itself  to  consist  of  some  two  score  mounted  men,  armed  with 
bows  and  swords.  And  in  the  rear  came  the  rabble  of 
Surrentines,  encouraged  to  return  by  this  arrival  of  armed 
authority. 

'That  is  Chorsoman,'  said  Marcian,  as  soon  as  he  could 
distinguish  the  captain's  feature,  '  the  commander  at  Cumae.' 

'  Then  it  is  not  to  Cumae  that  they  have  carried  her ! ' 
exclaimed  Basil,  surmising  at  once  that  the  Hun  was  come  in 
pursuit  of  Veranilda. 

'  Time  enough  to  think  of  that,'  growled  Venantius,  as  he 
glared  from  under  black  brows  at  the  advancing  horsemen. 
'What  are  we  to  do?  To  resist  is  war,  and  this  villa  cannot 
be  held  for  an  hour.  Yet  to  yield  is  most  likely  to  be  made 
prisoners.  Marcian ! ' 

Marcian  was  watching  and  listening  with  a  look  of 
anxious  thought.  Appealed  to  for  his  counsel,  he  spoke 
decidedly. 

'Withdraw  your  men  and  go  down.  Resistance  is  im- 
possible. Chorsoman  must  enter,  but  trust  me  to  manage 
him.  I  answer  for  your  liberty.' 

Venantius  led  his  men  down  to  the  inner  court.  Basil, 
careless  of  everything  but  the  thought  that  Veranilda  was 
being  borne  far  from  him,  he  knew  not  whither,  went  to  get 
horses  ready,  that  he  might  pursue  Petronilla  as  soon  as  the 
road  was  free.  Marcian,  having  spoken  with  the  porter, 
waited  till  a  thundering  at  the  gate  announced  Chorsoman's 
arrival,  then  had  the  doors  thrown  open,  and  stood  with  a 
calm  smile  to  meet  the  commander. 

'Fair  greeting  to   your   Magnificence!'  he    began   with 


CHORSOMAN  99 

courtesy.  'Be  welcome  to  this  villa,  where,  in  absence  of  its 
mistress,  I  take  upon  myself  to  offer  you  hospitality.' 

Chorsoman  had  dismounted,  and  stood  with  half  a  dozen 
of  his  followers  behind  him  in  the  portico.  At  sight  of 
Marcian  his  face  became  suspicious. 

'By  mistress,'  he  replied  gruffly,  stepping  forward,  'I 
suppose  you  mean  the  daughter  of  Maximus.  Where  is 
she?' 

Marcian  would  have  continued  the  conversation  within, 
but  the  Hun  chose  to  remain  standing  in  the  fore-court,  the 
gate  wide  open.  From  the  Surrentines  he  had  already  hea»d 
the  story  of  Aurelia's  disappearance,  which  puzzled  and 
angered  him,  for  no  one  professed  to  be  able  to  explain  what 
had  happened,  yet  his  informants  declared  that  the  Roman 
lady  and  the  Gothic  maiden  had  been  carried  away  without 
the  knowledge  of  the  men  who  were  their  protectors.  This 
was  now  repeated  by  Marcian,  who  professed  himself  over- 
whelmed by  the  event. 

'  You  have  here  one  Basilius,'  said  Chorsoman. 

1  The  same  whom  your  greatness  saw  on  a  certain  occasion 
at  Cumae.' 

'  They  tell  me  he  was  about  to  wed  with  Veranilda.  What 
does  that  mean  ? ' 

'An  idle  rumour,'  replied  Marcian,  'springing  from  vulgar 
gossip,  and  from  the.  spiteful  anger  of  the  lady  sister  of 
Maximus,  who  hoped  to  inherit  what  has  fallen  to  her  niece. 
Let  your  valorous  magnificence  be  assured  that  there  is  no 
truth  in  it.  Can  you  imagine  that  I,  whose  mission  is  known 
to  you,  should  have  looked  on  at  such  an  audacity?  I  think 
your  perspicuity  will  not  require  better  proof  of  the  powers 
with  which  I  am  intrusted  than  that  I  gave  you  at  Cumae  ? ' 

Of  the  profound  contempt  proclaimed,  rather  than  dis- 
guised, by  Marcian's  extravagant  courtesy,  Chorsoman  had 
no  inkling ;  but  his  barbaric  mind  resented  the  complexity  of 
things  with  which  it  was  confronted,  and  he  felt  a  strong 
inclination  to  take  this  smooth-tongued  Latin  by  the  throat, 
so  as  to  choke  the  plain  truth  out  of  him.  Why,  he  de- 


ioo  VERANILDA 

manded  fiercely,  had  not  Aurelia  and  her  companion  travelled 
straight  on  to  Rome,  as  he  had  been  assured  they  were  to 
do? 

'Fora  simple  reason,'  answered  Marcian.  'I  judged  an 
escort  necessary,  and  only  yesterday  did  I  obtain  it.  This 
very  day  should  we  have  set  forth.' 

'  You  speak  of  one  Venantius  and  his  followers — he  who 
just  now,  I  am  told,  threatened  to  massacre  the  harmless 
citizens  of  Surrentum.' 

'  I  would  rather  say  the  most  noble  Venantius,  a  senator, 
but  for  whose  presence  this  villa  would  have  been  sacked  by 
a  thievish  rabble  from  below.' 

'  Let  me  see  him,'  said  the  Hun,  his  eyes  like  those  of  a 
boar  at  bay. 

'  Will  it  please  your  Illustrious  Magnanimity  to  eat  with  us  ?' 

'  I  will  eat  when  I  choose.     Fetch  here  Venantius.' 

Marcian  despatched  the  porter,  and  in  a  few  moments 
Venantius  appeared,  behind  him  his  armed  men.  A  hand 
lightly  on  his  sword,  as  though  he  played  with  the  hilt,  his 
head  proudly  erect,  the  Roman  noble  paused  at  a  few  paces 
from  the  Hun,  and  regarded  him  with  bold  steadfastness. 

'  You  serve  the  Emperor  ? '  said  Chorsoman,  somewhat  less 
overbearingly  than  he  had  spoken  hitherto. 

1  When  occasion  offers,'  was  the  dry  response. 

On  the  Hun's  countenance  grew  legible  the  calculation 
busying  his  thought.  At  a  glance  he  had  taken  the  measure 
of  Venantius,  and  gauged  the  worth  of  the  men  behind  him. 
A  smile,  which  could  not  mask  its  cunning,  came  on  to  his 
iips,  and  all  of  a  sudden  he  exchanged  his  truculence  for 
amiability. 

'  Lord  Venantius,'  he  said,  laying  an  open  palm  on  his  own 
breast,  and  then  motioning  with  it  towards  the  Roman,  'you 
and  I,  two  men  of  valour,  can  understand  each  other  in  few 
words.  I  am  no  talker ' — his  narrow  eyes  glanced  at  Marcian 
— 'nor  are  you.  Tell  me,  if  you  can,  what  has  become  of 
the  lady  Aurelia  and  of  the  Gothic  maiden  who  attended 
upon  her.' 


CHORSOMAN  101 

'Lord  Chorsoman,'  replied  Venantius,  *I  thought  it  was 
you  who  could  have  answered  that  question.  The  ladies 
Aurelia  and  Veranilda  have  this  morning  disappeared,  and 
we  judged  it  likely  that  they  had  been  enticed  from  the  villa 
to  be  captured  and  borne  to  Cumae.' 

'  Who  should  have  done  that  ? ' 

*  Emissaries  of  your  own,  we  supposed.' 

The  Hun  reflected. 

'  This  man  of  words ' — he  nodded  sideways  at  Marcian — 
'spoke  of  a  woman's  malice.  Explain  to  me.' 

Venantius  told  what  he  knew  of  Petronilla's  enmity,  and 
the  listener  had  no  difficulty  in  coming  to  the  conclusion 
which  to  Basil  had  been  evident  from  the  first.  It  was  pos- 
sible, moreover,  that  Cumae  might  be  the  place  to  which  the 
captives  had  been  conveyed,  for  Chorsoman  had  left  the 
fortress  yesterday  to  come  hither  by  way  of  Neapolis,  his 
reason  for  the  expedition  being  news  of  Veranilda's  approach- 
ing marriage,  brought  to  him  by  a  fisherman  who  said  he  had 
been  paid  by  a  person  unknown.  Did  Petronilla,  he  next 
inquired,  know  that  Veranilda  was  to  be  sent  to  the  East  ? 
To  this  Marcian  replied  with  a  negative,  adding  : 

'  Unless  your  Illustrious  Discretion  have  seen  fit  to  spread 
abroad  what  I  imparted  to  your  private  ear.' 

'My  tongue  is  not  so  loose  as  yours,'  was  the  Hun's 
rejoinder. 

Again  he  reflected,  with  the  result  that  he  decided  to  send 
a  messenger  at  once  to  Cumae.  Until  news  could  be  brought 
back,  he  should  remain  here  in  the  villa.  This  intention  he 
announced  in  a  tone  abundantly  significant,  his  hearers 
understanding  that  Aurelia's  property  was  now  in  hands  not 
accustomed  to  relax  their  grasp. 

'  Lord  Venaatius,'  he  added,  '  as  your  escort  is  no  longer 
needed,  you  will  wish,  no  doubt,  to  return  forthwith  to  your 
own  abode.  It  will  not  be  long  before  you  have  the  occa- 
sion you  desire  of  proving  your  loyalty  to  the  Emperor. 
Brave  men  both,  we  may  presently  fight  side  by  side.  Let 
us  sit  at  table  together,  and  then  good-speed ! ' 


102  VERANILDA 

With  a  haughty  glare  Venantius  heard  this  dismissal.  A 
reply  surged  into  his  throat,  but  he  swallowed  it  again,  re- 
membering that  more  than  his  personal  safety  was  at  stake. 

'  You  will  pardon  me,  lord,'  he  replied,  '  if  I  do  not  stay 
to  break  my  fast.  I  am  of  impatient  humour,  and  never 
willingly  linger  when  a  journey  is  before  me.' 

I  As  you  will,'  said  Chorsoman,  with  a  slight  knitting  of  his 
brows.     '  You  ride  alone,  I  suppose  ? ' 

'The  lord  Basil,  who  starts  for  Rome,  will  give  me  his 
company  as  far  as  our  ways  are  one.' 

Chorsoman  gave  a  glance  at  the  soldiers  in  his  rear,  then 
at  Marcian,  and  smiled  grimly. 

I 1  fear  you  must  go  without  lord  Basil.    I  shall  have  need 
of  him.' 

There  was  a  very  short  silence ;  then  Marcian  spoke,  with 
bland  decision. 

'  Commander,  this  cannot  be.  Basil  carries  letters  of 
urgency  to  Rome  and  Ravenna ;  letters  which  I  would  not 
intrust  to  any  one  else.  Your  Sublimity  will  see  that  it  is 
impossible  to  delay  him.' 

Teeth  hard  set,  and  eyes  aflame,  the  Hun  took  a  step 
forward.  In  the  same  instant,  Venantius  laid  a  hand  upon 
his  sword,  and,  at  the  gesture,  his  armed  men  looked  to  their 
weapons. 

*  Where  is  this  Basil  ? '  demanded  Chorsoman. 

'  I  will  let  him  know  if  you  wish  to  speak  with  him,'  replied 
Marcian. 

'You  shall  be  spared  the  trouble.  Lord  Venantius,  bid 
your  followers  retire  and  get  their  horses  ready,  whilst  you 
and  I  go  in  search  of  lord  Basil.  You  will  not  refuse  me 
your  company  for  a  few  minutes  ? ' 

Cunning  had  again  subdued  the  Hun's  violence,  and  dis- 
cretion prevailed  with  the  Roman.  Together  they  passed 
through  the  atrium,  Chorsoman  casting  eager  glances  about 
him,  and  to  the  inner  court ;  but  the  followers  of  Venantius, 
obedient  to  a  silent  order,  still  kept  their  position  in  face  of 
the  Greek  soldiers,  and  this  Chorsoman  knew. 


CHORSOMAN  103 

'You  understand,'  said  the  Hun,  when  they  were  alone 
together,  '  you,  a  brave  and  honourable  man,  how  my  duty 
to  the  Emperor  obliges  me  to  act.  I,  of  course,  take  posses- 
sion of  this  villa  until  Aurelia  is  discovered.  And,  however 
important  his  mission,  I  cannot  allow  Basil  to  depart  without 
some  security — you  will  understand  that.' 

The  barbarous  accent  with  which  these  sentences  were 
uttered  caused  Venantius  almost  as  much  disgust  as  the 
plundering  purpose  they  avowed. 

'  What  security  ?  '  he  asked. 

Chorsoman  named  a  large  sum  of  money.  As  he  spoke, 
Basil  himself  appeared;  and  with  brief  preface,  the  matter 
under  debate  was  reported  to  him.  He  glanced  at  Venan- 
tius, but  could  find  no  counsel  in  the  dark,  stern  face.  Fore- 
seeing the  result  of  the  Hun's  visit,  Basil  had  hastened  to 
conceal  on  his  own  person  a  considerable  weight  of  coin,  and 
had  intrusted  something  like  the  same  amount  to  Felix.  In 
the  treasure  chamber  lay  a  mass  of  wealth  now  belonging  to 
Aurelia,  and  the  mere  fact  of  this  being  under  lock  and  key 
by  no  means  secured  it  against  the  commander's  greed. 
Marcian  came  forward,  and  hearing  the  talk  of  ransom, 
endeavoured  to  awe  the  Hun  into  moderation,  but  with  less 
success  than  he  had  had  at  Cumae.  So  he  led  Basil  aside, 
told  him  of  the  messenger  sent  to  Cumae,  as  well  as  of  the 
inventions  by  which  Chorsoman  had  been  beguiled,  and 
counselled  mere  inaction  until  news  came.  Marcian  then 
inquired  of  the  commander  whether,  in  case  Veranilda  were 
found  at  Cumae,  he  would  permit  her  to  be  sent  on  to  Rome 
under  the  escort  already  provided;  but  to  this  Chorsoman 
vouchsafed  no  direct  reply  :  he  would  consider  the  matter. 

Negotiations  had  reached  this  point  when  new  visitors 
arrived,  the  Bishop  of  Surrentum  and  presbyter  Joannes. 
Though  suffering  much,  the  good  bishop  had  risen  from  bed 
as  soon  as  the  exciting  events  of  this  morning  had  reached  his 
ear.  His  innocence  of  complicity  in  the  plot  against  Aurelia 
and  Veranilda,  no  one  who  saw  him  could  doubt ;  with 
astonishment  he*  had  heard  of  the  priests  and  their  armed 


104  VERANILDA 

attendants,  and  with  indignation  of  the  citizens'  tumultuous 
behaviour.  What  right  or  reason  had  folk  to  proclaim  that 
Aurelia  was  still  a  heretic,  and  that  she  should  not  have  been 
allowed  to  inherit  property  ?  Who,  he  asked  severely,  could 
read  her  heart  ?  And  when  inquiry  made  it  too  certain  that 
all  this  angry  feeling  had  originated  with  Petronilla,  the 
prelate  shook  his  head  sadly,  thinking  more  than  he  cared 
to  say.  Arrived  at  the  villa,  he  first  of  all  learnt  all  he  could 
as  to  the  position  of  things  (declaring  total  ignorance  when 
the  Hun  sought  to  examine  him  as  to  the  relations  of  Basil 
and  Veranilda),  then  made  earnest  inquiry  whether  there 
really  were  slaves  here  who  professed  Arianism.  The  four 
were  summoned ;  overcome  with  dread,  they  prostrated  them- 
selves, and  entreated  the  bishop  to  make  them  Catholics. 
Having  heard  from  them  that  they  all  had  been  baptized 
(the  Roman  Church  held  the  baptism  of  Arians  valid),  he 
sent  them  apart  for  summary  instruction  by  Joannes,  and 
afterwards  laid  his  reconciling  hands  upon  them.  Thus  had 
the  Church  gained  four  members,  and  the  good  folk  of 
Surrentum  lost  a  heretic-baiting. 

With  the  proceedings  of  the  Imperial  commander  the 
worthy  cleric  could  not  interfere.  He  spoke  privately  with 
Basil,  and  betrayed,  in  a  gentle  severity  of  mien,  his  sus- 
picion of  the  young  noble's  state  of  mind,  but  of  this  not 
a  word  fell  from  him ;  his  concern  seemed  to  be  solely  with 
the  lady  Aurelia,  regarding  whom  he  would  set  every  possible 
inquiry  on  foot.  He  advised  Basil  not  to  leave  the  neigh- 
bourhood for  a  day  or  two,  and  to  communicate  with  him 
before  he  went  far.  Gratefully  Basil  kissed  the  old  man's 
hand.  They  never  met  again.  A  week  later  the  bishop  was 
dead. 

After  all,  Venantius  sat  at  table  with  Chorsoman.  Fuming, 
he  waited  till  the  next  morning,  when,  if  the  news  could  be 
believed,  it  became  certain  that  Aurelia  and  her  companion 
were  not  at  Cumae.  Basil,  having  no  choice,  then  paid  for 
ransom  nearly  all  the  money  he  had  secreted,  and  rode  away 
with  Venantius,  purposing  to  remain  at  Nuceria  until  joined 


CHORSOMAN  105 

by  Martian.  Three  days  later  Marcian  appeared  at  the 
castle.  He  brought  no  intelligence  of  the  lost  ladies.  As 
for  their  abode,  it  had  been  thoroughly  pillaged ;  the  treasure 
chamber  was  discovered  and  broken  open ;  not  a  coin,  not 
a  vessel  or  ornament  which  had  its  price,  not  a  piece  of  silk, 
had  escaped  the  clutches  of  the  Hun. 

Chorsoman's  departure  was  followed  by  an  invasion  of  the 
Surrentines,  who  robbed  more  grossly.  A  fire  broke  out  in 
the  house  of  Proba,  and  much  of  that  building  was  destroyed. 
In  the  once  magnificent  villa  there  lurked  but  a  few  slaves, 
who  knew  not  whether  their  owner  lived. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    ANICIANS 

NOT  many  days  after,  in  a  still  noontide  of  mellow  autumn, 
Basil  and  Marcian  drew  towards  Rome.  They  rode  along 
the  Via  Appia,  between  the  tombs  of  ancient  men  ;  all  about 
them,  undulant  to  the  far  horizon,  a  brown  wilderness  dotted 
with  ruins.  Ruins  of  villas,  of  farms,  of  temples,  with  here 
and  there  a  church  or  a  monastery  that  told  of  the  newer 
time.  Olives  in  scant  patches,  a  lost  vineyard,  a  speck  of 
tilled  soil,  proved  that  men  still  laboured  amid  this  vast 
and  awful  silence,  but  rarely  was  a  human  figure  visible.  As 
they  approached  the  city,  marshy  ground  and  stagnant  pools 
lay  on  either  hand,  causing  them  to  glance  sadly  at  those 
great  aqueducts,  which  for  ages  had  brought  water  into  Rome 
from  the  hills  and  now  stood  idle,  cleft  by  the  Goths  during 
the  siege  four  years  ago. 

They  rode  in  silence,  tired  with  their  journey,  occupied 
with  heavy  or  anxious  thoughts.  Basil,  impatient  to  arrive, 
was  generally  a  little  ahead.  Their  attendants  numbered 
half  a  dozen  men,  among  them  Felix  and  Sagaris,  and  two 
mules  laden  with  packs  came  in  the  rear.  Earthworks  and 
rough  buildings  of  military  purpose,  again  recalling  the 
twelve  months'  blockade,  presently  appeared  ;  churches  and 
oratories  told  them  they  were  passing  the  sacred  ground  of 
the  catacombs ;  then  they  crossed  the  little  Almo,  rode  at  a 
trot  along  a  hollow  way,  and  saw  before  them  the  Appian 
Gate.  Only  a  couple  of  soldiers  were  on  guard  ;  these  took 
a  careless  view  of  the  travellers,  and  let  them  pass  without 
speaking. 


THE  ANICIANS 


107 


me. 


Marcian  rode  up  to  his  friend's  side,  and  spoke  softly. 
c  You  have  promise 
Basil  answefe^&my  with  a  dull  noc 

'  I  will  x^ee  her  to-day,'  continued  tn^  other,  '  and  will 
bring  yjju  the  news  before  I  sleep.' 

so.' 

more  words  passed  between  them.  On  their  left  hand 
th£y  saw  the  Thermae  of  Caracalla,  their  external  magnificence 
Scarce  touched  by  decay,  but  waterless,  desolate;  in  front 
'rose  the  Caelian,  covered  with  edifices,  many  ir  ruin,  and 
with  neglected  or  altogether  wild  gardens ;  the  toad  along 
which  they  weafr-wsRKalmost  as  silent  as  that  without  the 
walls.  Arrived  at  a  certain  point,  the  two  looted  at  each 
other  and  waved  a  hand ;  Chen  Marcian,  withr  Sagaris  and 
one  other  seriant,  pushed  forVard,  whilst  Basfl,  followed  by 
the  rest  of  the Vain,  took  an  aicending  road/o  the  right. 

which  he  wa/  born,  and  wnere  he  alone  now 
sumWt/of  the  Caelian.     Before  it  stood 


behind 
aqueduct 

monaster 


laudius,  overlooking  the  Flavian 
anged  Jme  great  arches  of  the 
y  weoe  the  round  church  of  St. 
dedio&ted  to  St.  Erasmus.  By  a 
between  walls  overhung  with  ivy, 
but  for  the  occasional  bark  of  a  dog, 
these  btkl dings  of  old  time  were  in- 
habited ;  and  when  he  drew  rerb  before  his  own  portico,  the 
cessation  of  the  sound  of  hooA  made  a  stillness  like  that 
among  the  Appian  sepulchres.  Byeless,  hoary,  with  vegeta- 
tion rooted  here  and  there,  the  frontNsf  the  house  gave  no  wel- 
come. Having  knocked,  Basil  had  to  wait  for  some  moments 
before  there  came  a  sign  of  opening.  With  drooped  head, 
he  seemed  to  watch  the  lizards  playing  in  the  sunshine  upon 
a  marble  column. 

A  wicket  opened,  and  at  once  there  sounded  from  within 
an  exclamation  of  joyful  surprise.  After  much  clanking,  the 
door  yielded,  and  an  elderly  servant,  the  freedman  Eugenius, 
offered  greeting  to  his  lord.  Basil's  first  question  was  whether 


io8  VERANILDA 

Decius  had  been  there ;  he  learnt  that  his  kinsman  was  now 
in  the  house,  having  come  yesterday  to  reside  here  from  the 
Anician  palace  beyond  the  Tiber. 

'  Tell  him  at  once  that  I  am  here.  Stay ;  I  dare  say  he  is 
in  the  library.  I  will  go  to  him.' 

He  passed  through  the  atrium,  adorned  with  ancestral 
busts  and  with  the  consular  fasces  which  for  centuries  had 
signified  nothing,  through  a  room  hung  with  tapestry  and 
floored  with  fine  mosaic,  through  the  central  court,  where  the 
fountain  was  dry,  and  by  a  colonnade  reached  the  secluded 
room  which  was  called  library,  though  few  books  remained 
out  of  the  large  collection  once  guarded  here.  In  a  sunny 
embrasure,  a  codex  open  on  his  knees,  sat  the  pale  student ; 
seeing  Basil,  he  started  up  in  great  surprise,  and,  when  they 
had  embraced,  regarded  him  anxiously. 

'How  is  this?  What  has  happened?  Some  calamity,  I 
see.' 

'  Seek  some  word,  O  Decius,  to  utter  more  than  that.  I 
have  suffered  worse  than  many  deaths.' 

'  My  best,  my  dearest  Basil ! '  murmured  the  other  tenderly. 
1  You  have  lost  her  ? ' 

'  Lost  her  ?  yes ;  but  not  as  you  mean  it.  Is  Petronilla  in 
Rome?' 

'She  arrived  the  day  before  yesterday,  two  hours  after 
sunset.' 

'  And  you  have  seen  her,  talked  with  her  ? ' 

'  I  was  at  the  house  yonder  when  she  came.' 

'  And  she  behaved  ill  to  you  ? '  asked  Basil. 

'  Far  from  that,  Petronilla  overwhelmed  me  with  affection 
and  courtesy.  I  knew  not,'  proceeded  Decius  smiling,  '  how 
I  had  all  at  once  merited  such  attention.  I  came  away  merely 
because  this  situation  better  suits  my  health.  Down  by  the 
river  I  have  never  been  at  ease.  But  let  me  hear  what  has 
befallen  you.' 

Basil  told  his  story,  beginning  with  the  explanation  of 
Veranilda's  importance  in  the  eyes  of  the  Greek  commander. 
After  learning  from  the  Hun  that  nothing  was  known  of  the 


THEANICIANS  109 

lost  ladies  at  Cumae,  he  had  impatiently  lingered  for  three 
days  in  the  castle  of  Venantius,  on  the  chance  that  Marcian 
might  be  able  to  test  the  truth  of  Chorsoman's  report ;  but 
his  friend  made  no  discovery,  and  in  despair  he  set  out  for 
Rome.  To  all  this  Decius  listened  with  wonder  and  with 
sympathy.  He  had  no  difficulty  in  crediting  Petronilla  with 
such  a  plot,  but  thought  she  could  scarce  have  executed  it 
without  the  help  of  some  one  in  authority.  Such  a  person,  he 
added  cautiously,  as  a  deacon  of  the  Roman  Church.  Here- 
upon Basil  exclaimed  that  he  and  Marcian  had  had  the  same 
suspicion. 

'  I  will  find  her,'  he  cried,  '  if  it  cost  me  my  life !  And  I 
will  be  revenged  upon  those  who  have  robbed  me  of  her. 
She  may  at  this  moment  be  in  Rome.  The  ship  that  carried 
her  off  was  large  enough,  they  say,  to  make  the  voyage,  and 
winds  have  been  favourable.  My  good  Decius,  I  am  so 
overcome  with  misery  that  I  forget  even  to  ask  how  you  sped 
on  the  sea.' 

1 A  smooth  and  rapid  voyage.  I  had  only  time  to  reperuse 
with  care  the  Silvac  of  Statius — his  Epicedion  being  appro- 
priate to  my  mood.  Arrived  at  Portus,  I  sent  a  post  to  those 
who  awaited  the  ship's  coming,  and  the  remains  of  Maximus 
were  brought  with  all  due  honour  to  their  resting  place.' 

'Was  the  deacon  Leander  here  to  receive  you?'  asked 
Basil. 

'  I  learnt  that  he  had  not  yet  been  heard  of.' 

They  exchanged  a  significant  look,  and  Basil  remarked 
that  he  would  soon  discover  the  deacon's  movements  since 
his  leaving  Surrentum.  Marcian  was  even  now  on  his  way 
to  visit  Petronilla,  and  would  come  with  news  this  evening. 

c  If  I  could  know,'  he  cried,  '  whether  she  has  been  de- 
livered to  the  Greeks,  or  is  kept  imprisoned  by  that  Megaera ! 
It  may  be  that  Petronilla  is  ignorant  of  what  I  have  told  you ; 
yet,  if  so,  I  fear  she  will  soon  learn  it,  for  Chorsoman  will 
write — if  the  barbarian  can  write — to  Bessas,  and  cannot  but 
mention  her.  There  are  prisons  in  Rome  for  those  who 
offend  the  tyrant  of  Byzantium.' 


no  VERANILDA 

'It  troubles  me  to  hear  you  say  that,'  said  Decius,  with  an 
anxious  glance. 

'  I,  too,  may  be  in  peril,  you  think,'  replied  his  kinsman 
gloomily.  'True,  all  the  more  that  I  am  known  to  have  just 
inherited.  Bessas  takes  a  peculiar  interest  in  such  people. 
Be  that  as  it  will.  Let  us  turn  for  a  moment  to  other 
things.' 

They  spoke  of  the  duties  that  had  to  be  discharged  by 
Basil  as  his  uncle's  heir.  On  the  morrow  he  must  assemble 
such  of  his  kinsfolk  as  were  in  Rome,  and  exhibit  to  them 
the  testament.  Aurelia's  part  in  it  would  of  course  excite 
discussion,  perhaps  serious  objection;  whereas  her  disap- 
pearance would  probably  be  regarded  as  a  matter  of  small 
moment,  and  Petronilla,  even  if  suspected,  could  count  on 
sympathy.  When  he  left  the  library,  Basil  found  all  the 
members  of  his  household,  from  the  old  nurse  Aguella,  whose 
privilege  it  was  to  treat  him  with  motherly  affection,  to  the 
men  who  groomed  his  horse,  assembled  outside  to  give  him 
welcome.  His  character  and  bearing  were  such  as  earn 
the  good-will  of  dependents;  though  proud  and  impatient, 
he  never  behaved  harshly,  and  a  service  well  rendered  often 
had  its  recognition.  Among  the  young  men  of  his  rank,  he 
was  notable  for  temperance  in  pleasures ;  his  slaves  regarded 
him  as  above  common  temptations  of  the  flesh,  and,  though 
this  might  be  a  loss  to  them  in  one  way,  they  boasted  of  it 
when  talking  to  the  slaves  of  masters  less  exceptional.  Hav- 
ing learnt  from  Felix  that  their  lord  was  heir  of  Maximus, 
the  servants  received  him  with  even  more  than  wonted  respect. 
One  of  them  was  the  steward  of  his  estate  in  Picenum,  who 
had  arrived  at  Rome  a  few  days  ago ;  with  him  Basil  had 
private  talk,  received  money  which  the  man  had  brought, 
heard  of  the  multitudinous  swine  in  his  oak  forest,  and  of 
the  yield  of  his  fruit  trees.  That  strip  of  the  Adriatic  coast 
south  of  Ancona  had  always  been  famous  for  its  pears  and 
apples,  and  choice  examples  of  the  fruit  lay  on  Basil's  table 
to-day.  When  he  had  supped,  he  anxiously  awaited  the 
coming  of  Marcian.  It  was  two  hours  after  nightfall  before 


THE   ANICIANS  in 

his  friend  appeared,  having  come  in  a  litter,  with  torch- 
bearing  attendants,  from  the  Palatine,  where  he  had  supped 
with  Bessas,  the  Greek  commander. 

The  news  he  brought  was  disquieting.  Bessas  had  just 
received  despatches  from  Cumae,  which  acquainted  him  with 
the  story  of  Veranilda's  disappearance,  so  far  as  it  was  known 
to  Chorsoman ;  he  wore  a  heavy  brow  about  the  business, 
swore  that  the  Gothic  damsel  should  be  found,  if  it  cost  the 
skins  of  all  who  had  had  anything  to  do  with  her. 

'I  partly  soothed  the  brute,'  concluded  Marcian,  'by  tell- 
ing him  that  Petronilla  was  within  such  easy  reach.  Her 
he  will  summon  to-morrow.' 

1  You  promised  to  see  her,'  said  Basil  impatiently. 

'  Do  I  often  break  my  promises  ?  I  saw  her  before  going 
even  to  my  own  house,  with  the  dust  of  the  journey  still 
upon  me.' 

'  Ever  kind  Marcian  ? ' 

'  Why  so  hasty  to  think  me  less  than  kind  ? '  returned  the 
other,  with  his  smile  of  sad  irony.  '  I  saw  her,  though  with 
difficulty.  She  kept  me  waiting  like  an  importunate  poor 
kinsman,  and  when  I  was  received,  she  sat  like  the  Empress 
giving  audience.  I  did  not  touch  the  earth  with  my  fore- 
head; nay,  I  stood  looking  at  her  with  a  look  she  did 
not  easily  bear.  That  she  is  guilty,  I  am  sure;  I  read 
triumph  in  her  eyes  as  soon  as  I  spoke  of  Aurelia.  That  she 
would  deny  all  knowledge  of  the  affair  was  only  to  be 
expected.  Moreover,  she  has  taken  possession  of  the  great 
house  yonder,  and  declares  that  Aurelia,  as  a  heretic,  can 
claim  nothing  under  her  father's  will.  You,  of  course,  the 
heir,  can  expel  her,  if  you  think  it  worth  the  trouble.  But 
let  us  see  the  result  of  her  conversation  with  Bessas.  She 
smiled  disdainfully  when  I  mentioned  his  name,  and  tried  to 
continue  smiling  when  I  carelessly  explained  the  interest  he 
had  in  finding  Veranilda ;  but  she  was  frightened,  I  heard  it 
in  her  hoarse  voice  when  she  began  to  speak  evil  of 
Veranilda.' 

'  What ! '  cried  Basil.     «  Evil  of  Veranilda ! ' 


112  VERANILDA 

'Such  as  naturally  comes  to  the  tongue  of  an  angry 
woman.1 

The  lover  raged,  Marcian  listening  with  a  sad,  half-absent 
look.  Their  talk  continued  for  a  long  time,  and,  because  of 
the  lateness  of  the  hour,  Marcian  stayed  to  sleep  in  his  friend's 
house.  Before  sunrise  on  the  morrow,  Basil  sent  forth  his 
invitations  to  all  of  the  Anician  blood  in  Rome.  The  first  to 
respond  was  Gordianus,  whose  dwelling  on  the  Clivus  Scauri 
stood  but  a  few  minutes'  walk  away.  Though  but  a  little 
older  than  Basil,  Gordian  had  been  for  several  years  a 
husband  and  a  father ;  he  was  in  much  esteem  for  his  worldly 
qualities,  and  more  highly  regarded  for  the  fervour  of  his 
religious  faith.  A  tall,  handsome,  dignified  man,  he  looked 
straight  before  him  with  frank  eyes,  and  his  lips  told  of 
spirit  tempered  by  kindliness.  Between  him  and  his  relative 
no  great  intimacy  existed,  for  their  modes  of  life  and  of 
thought  were  too  dissimilar,  but  each  saw  the  good  in  the 
other,  and  was  attracted  by  it.  Not  long  ago  Gordian  had 
conceived  the  project  of  giving  his  young  sister  Aemiliana  as 
wife  to  Basil.  Maximus  favoured  this  design,  but  his  nephew 
showed  no  eagerness  to  carry  it  out,  and  Roman  gossip 
presently  found  a  reason  for  that.  Among  the  leaders  of 
fashion  and  of  pleasure — for  fashion  and  pleasure  did  not 
fail  to  revive  in  Rome  soon  after  the  horrors  of  the  siege — 
shone  a  lady  named  Heliodora,  the  Greek  wife  of  a  little- 
respected  senator,  who,  favoured  by  Bessas,  rose  to  the 
position  of  City  Prefect.  With  Heliodora's  character  rumour 
made  very  free ;  the  captives  of  her  beauty  were  said  to  be 
numerous,  and  one  of  the  names  mentioned  by  those  who  loved 
such  scandal  was  that  of  the  young  Basil.  Gordian,  finding 
that  there  was  some  ground  for  this  suspicion,  spoke  no  more 
of  the  suggested  marriage,  and  it  was  at  his  instance  that 
Maximus,  ill  in  Campania,  summoned  Basil  away  from  the 
city.  Reports  from  Surrentum  gave  reason  to  hope  that  this 
measure  had  succeeded.  But  to-day,  as  he  entered  Basil's 
house,  Gordian's  face  wore  a  troubled  look,  and  there  was 
no  warmth  in  his  response  to  the  greeting  which  met  him. 


THE   ANICIANS  113 

'You  have  sent  for  me,  my  dear  lord,'  he  began  with  grave 
and  distant  courtesy,  '  to  speak  of  the  matter  of  your  inherit- 
ance. Forgive  me  if  I  first  of  all  ask  you  a  question — of 
more  intimate  concern.  Is  it  true  that  you  have  taken  a 
wife  ? ' 

Basil,  in  whom  fatigue  and  misery  had  left  little  patience, 
began  quivering  in  every  nerve,  and  made  blunt  answer: 

'  It  is  not  true,  and  she  who  told  you  contrived  the  lie.' 

'You  speak  of  the  lady  Petronilla,'  pursued  Gordian 
gently.  '  Can  I  think  that  she  has  wilfully  deceived  me  ? ' 

'Think  it  not,  my  lord  Gordian,'  returned  the  other; 
'if  Petronilla  told  you  I  was  married,  she  lied.' 

'That  is  strange  indeed.  Listen,  I  pray  you,  to  the 
story  heard  in  Rome  since  Petronilla  returned.  It  is  right 
that  you  should  hear  it  just  as  it  comes  from  her  own  lips.' 

Thereupon  Gordian  repeated  a  narrative  which  would  have 
been  substantially  true  had  it  not  crowned  Basil's  love  with 
marriage.  The  listener,  shaken  with  violent  passion,  could 
scarce  wait  till  the  end. 

'  And  now  hear  me,'  he  cried.  '  If  I  were  prudent,  I  also 
should  lie,  for  the  truth  may  be  dangerous.  But  you  shall 
know  it,  O  Gordian,  and  if  you  choose  to  harm  me ' 

The  other  raised  a  hand,  and  so  full  of  dignity  was  this 
gesture,  so  solemn  the  look  which  accompanied  it,  that 
Basil's  vehemence  felt  itself  rebuked;  he  grew  silent  and 
listened. 

'Basil,  check  your  tongue,  which  I  see  will  be  your 
greatest  peril.  Do  not  confide  in  me,  for  I  know  not 
whether  I  can  respect  your  confidence.  Let  us  speak  of 
other  things.' 

The  younger  man  stood  for  a  moment  in  hesitancy,  his 
cheeks  aflame,  his  eyes  fiercely  gleaming. 

'As  you  will,'  he  exclaimed,  mastering  himself.  'When 
the  others  are  here,  you  will  learn  all  that  it  concerns  you  to 
know.  Remember,  Gordian,  that  I  would  have  opened  my 
heart  to  you,  for,  whatever  I  said,  I  know  well  that  you  are 

no  betrayer.     As  for  that  woman ' 

II 


114  VERANILDA 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  several  persons, 
old  and  young,  who  appeared  in  answer  to  his  summons. 
Having  received  them  with  colder  courtesy  than  was  natural 
to  him,  Basil  produced  the  testament  of  Maximus,  and 
submitted  it  to  his  kinsmen's  inspection.  The  tablets  passed 
from  hand  to  hand ;  the  signatures  and  seals  of  the  seven 
witnesses  were  examined,  the  contents  read  and  discussed. 
Meanwhile  guests  continued  to  arrive,  until  a  considerable 
gathering,  which  included  several  ladies,  had  assembled  in 
the  great  hall.  Here  was  represented  all  that  deemed  itself 
best  and  most  illustrious  in  the  society  of  Rome.  More 
came  than  were  expressly  invited  ;  for,  beyond  the  legitimate 
interest  of  the  occasion,  curiosity  had  been  aroused  by  the 
gossip  of  Petronilla,  and  some  whose  connection  with  the 
Anician  house  was  of  the  very  slightest,  hastened  to  present 
themselves  at  Basil's  door.  Hither  came  men  whose  names 
recalled  the  glories  of  the  Republic;  others  who  were 
addressed  by  appellations  which  told  of  Greek  dominion; 
alike  they  claimed  the  dignity  of  Roman  optimates,  and  deemed 
themselves  ornaments  of  an  empire  which  would  endure  as 
long  as  the  world.  Several  ranked  as  senators ;  two  or  three 
were  ex-consuls ;  ten  years  ago  the  last  consul  of  Rome  had 
laid  down  his  shadowy  honours ;  one  had  held  the  orifice  of 
Praetorian  Prefect  when  Theodoric  was  king ;  yet,  from  the 
political  point  of  view,  all  were  now  as  powerless  as  their  own 
slaves.  Wealth  a  few  of  them  still  possessed,  but  with  no 
security ;  a  rapacious  Byzantine  official,  the  accident  of  war, 
might  at  any  moment  strip  them  of  all  they  had.  For  the  most 
part  they  had  already  sunk  to  poverty,  if  not  to  indigence ; 
among  these  aristocratic  faces  were  more  than  one  which 
bore  the  mark  of  privation.  Those  who  had  little  means  or 
none  lived  as  parasites  of  more  fortunate  relatives  ;  though 
beggars,  they  housed  in  palaces — palaces,  it  is  true,  which 
had  often  no  more  comfort  within  their  marble  walls  than 
the  insulae  where  the  ignoble  laid  their  heads. 

When  all  had  perused  the  will,  Basil  rose  up  and  addressed 
them.  He  began  by  a  seemingly  careless  allusion  to  the 


THE   ANICIANS  115 

tattle  about  himself,  which,  as  it  appeared,  had  been  started 
in  Rome  by  some  one  who  wished  him  ill.  The  serious 
matter  of  which  he  had  to  speak  regarded  the  daughter  of 
Maximus.  No  one  here,  of  course,  would  be  inclined  to 
take  up  the  defence  of  Aurelia,  whose  history  was  known  to 
all;  he  would  merely  make  known  to  them  that  after  having 
abjured  her  religious  errors,  and  when  living  quietly  in  the 
Surrentine  villa,  she  had  been  treacherously  seized  and 
carried  off  he  knew  not  whither.  It  was  not  difficult  to 
surmise  by  whom  this  plot  had  been  laid,  but  he  would 
leave  that  point  for  his  hearers'  discussion.  Him  it  chiefly 
concerned  to  make  known  the  strange  facts  so  far  as  he 
knew  them ;  and  this  he  proceeded  to  do.  Basil  concluded 
with  sarcastic  reference  to  the  possibility  that  he,  as  heir, 
might  be  openly  or  secretly  suspected  of  having  laid  hands 
upon  Aurelia ;  that  point  also  he  left  to  be  debated  by  such 
as  thought  it  worth  while. 

Only  some  two  or  three  of  those  who  listened  had  any 
personal  interest  in  the  will,  and  few  cared  at  all  for  the 
fate  of  Aurelia;  but  the  lady  at  whom  Basil's  innuendo 
pointed  enjoyed  no  great  favour,  and  her  absence  from  this 
family  gathering  made  it  possible  to  discuss  with  all  freedom 
the  likelihood  of  her  culpability.  At  Basil  himself  no  sus- 
picion glanced,  but  the  rumour  of  his  marriage  with  a  Goth 
had  excited  much  curiosity,  hardly  appeased  by  a  whisper 
that  Gordian  declared  the  story  false.  Having  spoken  all 
he  thought  fit  to  say,  Basil  was  going  apart  with  the  persons 
to  whom  legacies  had  been  left,  he,  as  heir,  being  charged 
with  the  execution  of  the  will,  when  Gordian  approached 
him,  and  begged  for  a  word  in  private. 

1 1  would  not  have  you  think  me  unkind,  dear  Basil,'  he 
said,  in  a  gentle  voice.  '  It  was  neither  the  place  nor  the 
moment  to  hear  secrets  from  you,  and  I  am  glad  now  that  I 
refused  to  listen ;  but  be  assured  that  I  put  faith  in  what  you 
have  declared  to  us.' 

'  It  is  well,  dear  Gordian,'  replied  Basil  frankly. 

'One  word  I  will  add,'  continued  the  other.     'If  you  are 


ir6  VERANILDA 

troubled  about  things  of  the  world,  if  you  lack  counsel  such 
as  you  think  a  friend  might  give,  delay  not  in  coming  to 
me.  I  should  not  speak  thus  confidently  did  I  speak  of  my- 
self alone ;  but  there  is  one  ever  at  rny  side,  who  with  her 
wisdom — sometimes  I  think  it  divinely  bestowed — supplies 
the  weakness  of  my  own  understanding.  Guided  by  her,  I 
cannot  counsel  you  amiss.' 

They  parted  with  an  embrace,  and  Basil  turned  to  the 
business  of  the  moment.  This  occupied  him  until  nearly 
mid-day.  As  he  took  leave  of  the  last  of  his  guests,  there 
entered  Marcian ;  his  coming  surprised  Basil,  for  they  had 
parted  at  early  morning  not  to  meet  again  before  the 
morrow. 

'I  bring  you  an  invitation,'  said  Marcian,  in  a  careless 
tone,  which  was  not  quite  natural.  '  It  is  to  the  Palatine, 
after  dinner.' 

'  To  the  Palatine  ?     I  am  summoned  by  Bessas  ? ' 

'  In  a  friendly  way.  Have  no  anxiety.  Petronilla  has  been 
examined  this  morning,  and,  from  what  I  can  gather,  she 
seems  to  have  betrayed  herself.  Bessas  wore  the  smile  which 
means  that  he  has  over-reached  somebody.' 

'  Then  we  shall  find  her,'  exclaimed  Basil. 

'  They  will  find  her,  I  doubt  not,'  was  the  reply. 

The  meal  being  ready,  they  sat  down  to  eat  together,  but 
their  appetite  was  small.  Decius,  who  had  wearied  himself 
this  morning  in  finding  discreet  answers  to  the  questions 
with  which  he  was  privately  assailed  by  his  kinsfolk,  did  not 
come  to  table.  Having  dined,  Basil  and  his  friend  set  forth 
on  foot,  half  a  dozen  servants  walking  behind  them.  Midway 
in  the  descent  of  the  Caelian,  they  were  met  by  an  odd  pro- 
cession :  a  beautiful  boy  of  some  twelve  years  old,  clad  in 
yellow,  riding  upon  a  small  white  ass  with  rich  housings, 
and  behind  him  three  slaves,  dark-visaged  men  of  the  East, 
on  mules  of  great  size,  caparisoned  with  yellow  cloth,  to  which 
hung  innumerable  tinkling  bells.  At  sight  of  Basil,  the  child 
drew  rein,  jumped  down,  and  ran  forward  with  smiling  de- 
monstrations of  respect. 


THE   ANICIANS  117 

What  is  it,  Laetus  ? '  asked  Basil,  with  no  welcome  upon 
his  sombre  countenance.  '  I  cannot  talk  with  you  now.' 

The  boy,  who  had  been  sold  into  slavery  from  the  far 
island  of  the  Angles,  did  but  smatter  the  Roman  tongue. 
With  a  few  words  to  signify  that  his  message  was  important,  he 
delivered  a  letter,  and  Basil,  turning  aside  impatiently,  broke 
the  seal.  Upon  the  blank  side  of  a  slip  of  papyrus  cut  from 
some  old  manuscript  were  written  lines  which  seemed  to  be 
in  Greek,  and  proved  to  be  Latin  in  Greek  characters,  a 
foppery  beginning  to  be  used  by  the  modish  at  Rome. 

'  Heliodora  to  Basil.  You  are  bidden  to  supper.  Come  if 
you  will.  If  you  come  not,  I  care  not' 

1  Say  that  I  gave  you  no  reply,'  were  Basil's  blunt  words, 
as  he  walked  on  past  the  ass  and  the  mules. 


CHAPTER    XI 

SEEKING 

THEY  passed  beneath  the  walls  of  the  amphitheatre  and  by 
Constantine's  triumphal  arch.  Like  all  the  innumerable 
fountains  of  the  city,  the  Meta  Sudans  stood  dry ;  around 
the  base  of  the  rayed  colossus  of  Apollo,  goats  were 
browsing.  Thence  they  went  along  by  the  Temple  of  Venus 
and  Rome,  its  giant  columns  yet  unshaken,  its  roof  gleaming 
with  gilded  bronze ;  and  so  under  the  Arch  of  Titus,  when, 
with  a  sharp  turn  to  the  left,  they  began  the  ascent  of  the 
Palatine. 

The  vast  buildings  which  covered  the  Imperial  hill,  though 
discoloured  by  the  lapse  of  ages  and  hung  with  ivy,  had 
suffered  little  diminution  of  their  external  majesty ;  time  had 
made  them  venerable,  but  had  not  shattered  their  walls.  For 
two  centuries  and  a  half,  they  had  stood  all  but  desolate, 
and  within  that  time  had  thrice  been  sacked  by  barbarians, 
yet  something  of  the  riches  and  art  which  made  their 
ancient  glory  was  still  discoverable  in  the  countless  halls 
and  chambers;  statues,  busts,  mural  paintings,  triumphs  of 
mosaic,  pictured  hangings,  had  in  many  parts  escaped  the 
spoiler  and  survived  ruin;  whilst  everywhere  appeared  the 
magnificence  of  rare  stones,  the  splendours  of  royal  architec- 
ture, the  beauty  of  unsurpassed  carving.  Though  owls  nested 
where  empresses  were  wont  to  sleep,  and  nettles  pierced 
where  the  lord  of  the  world  feasted  his  courtiers,  this  was 
still  the  Palace  of  those  who  styled  themselves  Ever  August; 
each  echo  seemed  to  repeat  an  immortal  name,  and  in  every 
gallery  seemed  to  move  the  shadows  of  a  majestic  presence, 
us 


SEEKING  119 

Belisarius  had  not  resided  here,  preferring  for  his  abode 
the  palace  of  the  Pincian.  His  successor  in  the  military 
government  of  Rome  chose  a  habitation  on  the  deserted  hill, 
in  that  portion  of  its  complex  structures  which  had  been 
raised  by  Vespasian  and  his  sons.  Thither  the  two  visitors 
were  now  directing  their  steps.  Having  passed  a  gateway, 
where  Marcian  answered  with  a  watchword  the  challenge  of 
the  guard,  they  ascended  a  broad  flight  of  stairs,  and  stood 
before  an  entrance  flanked  with  two  great  pillars  of  Numidian 
marble,  toned  by  time  to  a  hue  of  richest  orange.  Here  stood 
soldiers,  to  whom  again  the  password  was  given.  Entering, 
they  beheld  a  great  hall,  surrounded  by  a  colonnade  of 
the  Corinthian  order,  whereon  had  been  lavished  exquisite 
carving;  in  niches  behind  the  columns  stood  statues  in 
basalt,  thrice  the  size  of  life,  representing  Roman  emperors, 
and  at  the  far  end  was  a  tribune  with  a  marble  throne.  This, 
once  the  hall  of  audience,  at  present  served  as  a  sort  of  ante- 
chamber ;  here  and  there  loitered  a  little  group  of  citizens, 
some  of  whom  had  been  waiting  since  early  morning  for 
speech  with  the  commander ;  in  one  corner,  soldiers  played 
at  dice,  in  another  a  notary  was  writing  at  a  table  before  which 
stood  two  ecclesiastics.  Voices  and  footsteps  made  a  faint, 
confused  reverberation  under  the  immense  vault. 

Anxiously  glancing  about  him,  Basil  followed  his  conductor 
across  the  hall  and  out  into  a  peristyle,  its  pavement  richly 
tesselated,  and  the  portico,  still  elaborately  adorned  with 
work  in  metal  and  in  marble,  giving  proof  of  still  greater 
magnificence  in  bygone  time;  pedestals  had  lost  their  statues, 
and  blank  spaces  on  the  wall  told  of  precious  panelling  torn 
off.  Beyond,  they  came  to  a  curtained  doorway,  where  they 
were  detained  for  some  moments  by  the  sentry ;  then  the 
curtain  was  drawn  aside,  and  Basil  found  himself  in  the 
triclinium  of  the  Flavian  palace,  now  used  by  the  Greek 
general  as  his  public  reception  room.  Its  size  was  not  much 
less  than  that  of  the  hall  of  audience ;  its  decoration  in  the 
same  grandiose  style.  Enormous  pillars  of  granite  supported 
the  roof;  statues  stood,  or  had  stood,  all  around ;  the  pave- 


120  VERANILDA 

ment,  composed  of  serpentine,  porphyry,  and  Numidian  marble 
in  many  hues,  was  a  superb  work  of  art.  But  Basil  saw  only 
the  human  figures  before  him.  In  a  chair  covered  with  furs 
sat  a  man  of  middle  age,  robust,  fair-complexioned,  with  a 
keen  look  in  his  pale  blue  eyes  and  something  of  the  wolfish 
about  his  mouth.  Bessas  had  long  ago  given  proof  of  valour, 
and  enjoyed  repute  as  a  general,  but  since  his  holding  com- 
mand in  Rome,  his  vices,  chief  of  which  was  avarice,  showed 
much  more  prominently  than  the  virtues  which  had  advanced 
him ;  he  used  the  Imperial  authority  chiefly  to  enrich  him- 
self, in  this  respect,  it  is  true,  merely  acting  in  harmony  with 
the  Emperor's  representative  at  Ravenna,  and  with  the  other 
Greek  generals  scattered  about  Italy,  but  exhibiting  in  his 
methods  a  shrewdness  and  an  inhumanity  not  easily  rivalled. 
Behind  his  chair  stood  several  subordinates,  and  on  a  stool 
before  him  sat  a  noble  recently  arrived  as  envoy  from 
Byzantium. 

Having  been  previously  instructed  as  to  his  behaviour  in 
this  redoubtable  presence,  Basil  followed  the  example  of 
Marcian  in  approaching  with  bent  head  to  within  a  distance 
of  three  pares,  then  dropping  to  his  knees,  and  bowing  so  as 
almost  to  touch  the  ground  with  his  forehead.  He  heard  a 
gruff  voice  command  him  to  rise. 

'  So  this  is  the  heir  of  the  Senator  Maximus,'  said  Bessas, 
much  as  he  might  have  spoken  of  viewing  a  horse  that  in- 
terested him.  '  What  is  his  name?  ' 

'Basilius,  my  lord,'  replied  Marcian,  with  grave  respect. 

'And  what  is  he  doing?  Why  does  not  a  limber  lad  like 
that  serve  the  Emperor?' 

'Your  Magnanimity  will  recollect  that  the  lord  Basil  had 
permission  to  attend  Maximus  into  Campania,  whence  he  is 
but  now  returned.' 

'Can't  he  speak  for  himself?'  growled  Bessas,  turning 
sharply  upon  Marcian.  'You  have  a  tongue,  lord  Basil? 
Do  you  only  use  it  among  the  wenches  ?' 

A  subdued  laugh  sounded  behind  the  commander's  chair. 
The  envoy  from  Byzantium  showed  more  discreet  apprecia- 


SEEKING  121 

tion  of  the  jest.  And  Basil,  his  head  bowed,  would  fain  have 
concealed  a  face  burning  with  angry  shame. 

'I  will  do  my  best/  he  replied  in  a  steady  voice,  'to 
answer  any  question  your  excellence  may  put  to  me.' 

'  Come,  that 's  better,'  said  the  general,  with  that  affectation 
of  bluff  good-nature  which  always  veiled  his  designs.  '  I  like 
the  look  of  you,  my  good  Basil ;  who  knows  but  we  may  be 
friends?  By  the  bye,  was  there  not  some  special  reason  for 
your  coming  to  see  me?' 

'  Your  excellence  summoned  me.' 

'  Yes,  yes,  I  remember.  That  affair  of  the  Gothic  wench.' 
Bessas  checked  himself,  glanced  at  the  envoy,  and  corrected 
his  phrase.  '  The  Gothic  lady,  I  would  say,  who  has  some- 
how been  spirited  out  of  sight.  What  can  you  tell  us  of  her, 
lord  Basil  ?  It  has  been  whispered  to  me  that  if  you  cannot 
lead  us  to  this  beauty's  hiding-place,  nobody  can.' 

Basil  answered  in  the  only  way  consistent  with  prudence: 
he  not  only  denied  all  knowledge  of  where  Veranilda  was  to 
be  found,  but  spoke  as  though  her  fate  had  little  or  no 
interest  for  him,  whereas  he  professed  himself  greatly  troubled 
by  the  disappearance  of  his  cousin  Aurelia.  It  seemed  that 
Petronilla  did  not  purpose  delivering  Veranilda  to  the  Greeks. 
Perhaps  she  did  not  yet  understand  the  import  of  their 
inquiry.  That  it  was  she  who  held  Veranilda  prisoner  he 
had  less  doubt  than  ever,  and  boldly  he  declared  his  convic- 
tion. But  even,  whilst  speaking,  he  thought  with  dread  of 
the  possibility  of  Veranilda' s  being  delivered  to  Bessas;  for 
who  could  assure  him  that  this  sinister-looking  Thracian 
would  respect  the  mandate  received  from  Byzantium  ?  On 
the  other  hand,  who  could  say  to  what  sufferings  and  perils 
his  beloved  was  exposed  whilst  Petronilla's  captive?  He 
preferred  the  risks  to  follow  upon  her  surrender.  Did  he 
but  know  where  she  was  there  would  at  least  be  a  hope  of 
rescuing  her. 

'  By  Christ ! '  exclaimed  Bessas,  when  he  had  listened 
intently  to  all  Basil's  replies,  '  this  is  a  strange  business.  I 
begin  to  think,  excellent  lord  Basil,  that  you  are  as 


122  VERANILDA 

much  deceived  in  your  suspicions  of  the  lady  Petronilla  as 
she  is  in  her  suspicions  of  you.  These  two  wenches — ladies, 
I  would  say — may  have  reasons  of  their  own  for  hiding ;  or 
somebody  of  whom  you  know  nothing  may  have  carried  them 
off.  How  is  this  Aurelia  to  look  upon  ?  Young  and  comely, 
I  warrant.' 

Basil  briefly  described  his  cousin ;  whereupon  the  listener 
gave  a  shrug. 

'  We  will  talk  of  it  again,  to-morrow  or  the  day  after.  Hold 
yourself  in  readiness,  lord  Basil — you  hear  ? — to  come  when 
bidden.  And,  hark  you,  bring  the  senator's  will,  that  I  may 
look  it  over  myself.  Trust  me,  I  will  see  that  this  lady 
Aurelia  suffers  no  wrong ;  if  necessary,  I  will  myself  hold  her 
property  in  trust.  They  tell  me  she  is  a  heretic — that  must  be 
inquired  into.  But  take  no  thought  for  the  matter,  my  good 
Basil ;  trust  me,  you  shall  be  relieved  from  all  responsibilities. 
Go  in  peace ! ' 

Bessas  rose,  impatient  to  have  done  with  business.  In  the 
little  hippodrome,  hard  by,  an  entertainment  had  been  pre- 
pared for  this  afternoon :  female  equestrians  were  to  perform 
perilous  feats ;  there  was  to  be  a  fight  between  a  man  and  a 
boar;  with  other  trifles,  such  as  served  to  pass  the  time 
till  dinner.  In  the  entrance  hall  waited  messengers  from 
Ravenna,  who  for  hours  had  urgently  requested  audience; 
but,  partly  because  he  knew  that  their  despatches  would  be 
disagreeable,  in  part  because  he  liked  playing  at  royalty,  the 
commander  put  them  off  till  to-morrow.  Even  so  did  he 
postpone  an  inspection  of  a  certain  part  of  the  city  wall, 
repeatedly  suggested  to  him  by  one  of  his  subordinates. 
Leisure  and  accumulation  of  wealth  were  obscuring  the  man's 
soldierly  qualities.  He  gave  little  heed  to  the  progress  of 
the  war,  and  scoffed  at  the  fear  that  Totila  might  ere  long 
march  against  Rome. 

Basil  walked  in  gloomy  silence.  The  interview  had  in- 
flamed his  pride.  Mentally  he  repeated  the  oath  never  to 
acquiesce  in  this  Byzantine  tyranny,  and  he  burned  for  the 
opportunity  of  open  war  against  it.  When  they  were  at  a 


SEEKING  123 

safe  distance  from  the  Palatine,  Marcian  warned  his  friend 
against  the  Greek's  indulgent  manner;  let  him  not  suppose 
that  Bessas  spoke  one  word  sincerely. 

'  His  aim  at  present,  I  see,  is  to  put  you  off  your  guard ; 
and  doubtless  he  is  playing  the  like  game  with  Petronilla. 
You  will  be  spied  upon,  day  and  night — I  myself,  you  under- 
stand, being  one  of  the  spies,  but  only  one,  unfortunately. 
This  Thracian  is  not  so  easy  to  deal  with  as  the  Hun  at 
Cumae.  There  have  been  moments  when  I  thought  he  sus- 
pected me.  If  ever  I  vanish,  Basil ' 

He  ceased  with  a  significant  look. 

'Why  does  Totila delay? 'exclaimed  Basil,  with  a  passionate 
gesture. 

'He  delays  not.  It  is  wisdom  to  conquer  Campania 
before  coming  hither.  Another  month  will  see  him  before 
Neapolis.' 

'  Could  I  but  find  Veranilda,  make  her  my  own,  and  put 
her  in  safety,  I  would  go  straight  to  the  king's  camp,  and 
serve  him  as  best  I  might.' 

Marcian  looked  steadily  at  the  speaker,  smiling  strangely. 

'  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so  ? '  cried  Basil.  '  You  doubt 
me  ?  You  distrust  my  courage  ? ' 

'  Not  for  a  moment.  But  why  should  this  depend  upon 
the  finding  of  Veranilda,  my  best  Basil  ?  Having  found  her, 
having  made  her  your  own,  will  it  be  easier  than  now  to  take 
your  chance  of  death  or  of  captivity  ?  When  was  a  Roman 
wont  to  let  his  country's  good  wait  upon  his  amorous  desire?' 

They  were  on  the  Sacred  Way,  between  the  Basilica  of 
Constantine  and  the  Atrium  of  Vesta.  Struck  to  the  heart 
by  his  friend's  words,  words  such  as  Marcian  had  never  yet 
addressed  to  him,  Basil  stood  mute  and  let  his  eyes  wander: 
he  gazed  at  the  Forum,  at  the  temples  beyond  it,  at  the 
Capitol  with  its  desecrated  sanctuary  of  Jupiter  towering 
above.  Here,  where  the  citizens  once  thronged  about  their 
business  and  their  pleasure,  only  a  few  idlers  were  in  view,  a 
few  peasants  with  carts,  and  a  drove  of  bullocks  just  come  in 
from  the  country. 


124  VERANILDA 

'You  would  have  me  forget  her?'  he  said  at  length,  in  a 
voice  distressfully  subdued. 

'I  spoke  only  as  I  thought.' 

•And  your  thought  condemnedme — despised  me,  Marcian?' 

'  Not  so.  Pitied  you  rather,  as  one  whose  noble  nature 
has  fallen  into  trammels.  Have  you  not  long  known,  O  Basil, 
how  I  think  of  the  thing  called  love  ? ' 

'  Because  you  have  never  known  it ! '  exclaimed  Basil. 
'My  love  is  my  life.  Having  lost  Veranilda,  I  have  lost 
myself;  without  her  I  can  do  nothing.  Were  she  dead  I 
could  fling  myself  into  the  struggle  with  our  enemies,  all  the 
fiercer  because  I  should  care  not  whether  I  lived  or  died ; 
but  to  lose  her  thus,  to  know  that  she  may  be  in  Rome, 
longing  for  me  as  I  for  her — to  think  that  we  may  never  hold 
each  other's  hands  again — oh,  it  tears  my  heart,  and  makes 
me  weak  as  a  child.  You  cannot  understand  me ;  you  have 
never  loved  ! ' 

'  May  such  knowledge  be  far  from  me ! '  said  Marcian,  with 
unwonted  vehemence.  '  Do  you  feel  no  shame  in  being  so 
subdued  to  the  flesh  ? ' 

'Shame?    Shame  in  the  thought  that  I  love  Veranilda?' 

Marcian  seemed  to  make  an  effort  to  control  a  passion  that 
wrought  in  him ;  he  was  paler  than  of  wont,  and,  instead  of 
the  familiar  irony,  a  cold,  if  not  cruel,  austerity  appeared  in 
his  eyes  and  on  his  lips.  He  shunned  Basil's  astonished  gaze. 

'Let  us  not  speak  of  this,'  broke  from  him  impatiently. 
'You  understand  me  as  little  as  I  you.  Forgive  me,  Basil — 
I  have  been  talking  idly — I  scarce  know  what  I  said.  It  is 
sometimes  thus  with  me.  Something  takes  hold  upon  me, 
and  I  speak  at  random.  Come,  come,  dear  friend  of  my  heart, 
we  will  find  your  Veranilda;  trust  me,  we  will.' 

Three  days  went  by,  then  Basil  was  summoned  again 
to  the  Palatine,  where  he  had  an  interview  with  Bessas 
alone.  This  time  the  commander  hardly  spoke  of  Veranilda; 
his  talk  was  of  the  possessions  left  by  Maximus,  whose  testa- 
ment, when  he  had  read  it,  he  said  that  he  would  take  care  of 
until  the  lost  daughter  was  discovered ;  he  inquired  closely, 


SEEKING  125 

too,  as  to  Basil's  own  wealth,  and  let  fall  a  remark  that 
the  Roman  nobles  would  soon  be  called  upon  to  support 
the  army  fighting  for  their  liberties  against  the  barbarians. 
When  next  called,  let  Basil  have  ready  and  bring  with  him  an 
exact  statement  of  the  money  in  his  hands,  and  of  the  income 
he  expected  to  derive  from  his  property  during  the  present 
year.  Thereupon  he  was  dismissed  with  a  nod  and  a  smile, 
which  made  him  quiver  in  rage  for  an  hour  after.  This 
happened  in  early  morning.  The  day  was  overcast,  and  a 
cold  wind  blew  from  the  mountains ;  Basil  had  never  known 
such  misery  as  fell  upon  him  when  he  re-entered  his  gloomy, 
silent  house.  On  the  way  home  he  had  passed  two  funerals 
— their  hurried  aspect  proving  that  the  dead  were  victims  of 
the  plague,  that  lues  inguinaria  which  had  broken  out  in 
Italy  two  years  ago,  and  with  varying  intensity  continued 
throughout  the  land.  Throwing  himself  down  upon  a  couch, 
he  moaned  in  utter  wretchedness,  fearful  of  the  pestilence, 
yet  saying  to  himself  that  he  cared  not  if  it  seized  upon  him. 
His  moans  became  sobs ;  he  wept  for  a  long  time,  then  lay, 
half  soothed  by  the  burst  of  hysterical  passion,  with  eyes 
turned  blankly  to  the  ceiling  and  a  hand  clenched  upon  his 
breast. 

In  his  solitude  he  often  talked  with  Felix,  and  more  inti- 
mately perhaps  than  with  either  Decius  or  Marcian.  This 
trusty  servant  held  communication  with  a  man  in  the  house- 
hold of  Petronilla,  and  from  him  learnt  what  he  could  as  to 
the  lady's  movements ;  but  nothing  was  as  yet  discoverable 
which  threw  light  on  the  mystery  of  Aurelia  and  Veranilda. 
To-day,  however,  Felix  returned  from  the  other  side  of  the 
Tiber  with  what  sounded  like  important  news.  Petronilla 
had  left  home  this  morning  in  her  carriage,  had  gone  forth 
from  the  city  by  one  of  the  southern  gates,  and,  after  an 
absence  of  two  or  three  hours,  had  returned,  bringing  with 
her  some  one,  a  woman,  whom  she  took  into  her  house  and 
kept  there  in  privacy.  He  who  related  this  to  Felix  de- 
clared that  his  mistress  had  only  visited  the  church  of  her 
patron  saint  on  the  Via  Ardeatina,  but  who  the  woman  might 


126  VERANILDA 

be  that  she  had  brought  back  with  her,  he  did  not  pretend 
to  know.  This  story  so  excited  Basil  that  he  would  have 
hastened  forthwith  across  the  Tiber,  had  not  Felix  persuaded 
him  that  at  this  late  hour  nothing  could  be  done.  After  a 
sleepless  night  he  set  out  at  sunrise,  accompanied  by  Felix 
alone.  Whether  he  would  be  admitted  at  Petronilla's  door 
was  quite  uncertain ;  in  any  case,  it  would  serve  no  purpose 
to  go  thither  with  a  band  of  attendants,  for  the  Anician  house 
was  sure  to  be  strongly  guarded.  All  he  could  do  was  to 
present  himself  in  the  hope  of  seeing  Petronilla,  and  take  his 
chance  of  learning  something  from  her  when  they  stood  face 
to  face. 

On  horseback  he  went  down  by  the  Clivus  Scauri,  followed 
the  road  between  the  Circus  Maximus  and  the  Aventine, 
crossed  the  river  by  the  Aemilian  bridge  (the  nearer  bridge 
of  Probus  was  falling  into  ruins),  and  then  turned  to  the 
left.  This  part  of  the  transtiberine  district  was  inhabited  by 
poor  folk.  Something  unusual  seemed  to  have  happened 
among  them  just  now :  groups  stood  about  in  eager  talk,  and 
a  little  further  on,  in  front  of  a  church,  a  noisy  crowd  was 
assembled,  with  soldiers  among  them.  Having  made  inquiry, 
Felix  explained  the  disturbance  to  his  master.  It  was  due 
to  the  rapacity  of  the  Greek  commander,  who,  scorning  no 
gain,  however  small,  was  seizing  upon  the  funds  of  the  trade 
guilds ;  this  morning  the  common  chest  of  the  potters  had 
been  pillaged,  not  without  resistance,  which  resulted  in  the 
death  of  a  soldier;  the  slayer  had  fled  to  St.  Cecilia's  church, 
and  taken  sanctuary.  Basil's  feeling,  as  he  listened,  was  one 
of  renewed  bitterness  against  the  Greeks ;  but  to  the  potters 
themselves  he  gave  little  thought,  such  folk  and  their  wrongs 
appearing  of  small  moment  to  one  of  his  birth. 

Pursuing  the  road  towards  the  Portuensian  Gate,  he  was 
soon  in  sight  of  the  palace  where  for  generations  had  dwelt 
the  heads  of  the  Anician  family.  It  lay  on  a  gentle  slope 
above  the  river,  at  the  foot  of  the  Janiculan  Hill ;  around  it 
spread  public  porticoes,  much  decayed,  and  what  had  once 
been  ornamental  gardens,  now  the  pasture  of  goats.  As 


SEEKING  127 

Basil  had  expected,  he  was  kept  waiting  without  the  doors 
until  the  porter  had  received  orders  regarding  him.  Permitted 
at  length  to  enter,  he  passed  by  a  number  of  slaves  who  stood, 
as  if  on  guard,  in  the  atrium,  and,  though  seeming  to  be 
alone  in  the  room  beyond,  he  heard  subdued  voices  from 
behind  the  curtains  of  the  doorways,  which  told  him  that  he 
was  under  observation.  All  parts  of  this  great  house  were 
perfectly  familiar  to  him,  and  had  it  been  possible  to  conduct 
a  search,  he  would  soon  have  ascertained  whether  she  he 
sought  was  kept  imprisoned  here ;  but,  unless  he  took  the  place 
by  storm,  how  could  he  hope  to  make  any  discovery  ?  Whilst 
he  was  impatiently  reflecting,  Petronilla  entered.  She  moved 
towards  him  with  her  wonted  dignity  of  mien,  but  in  the 
look  with  which  she  examined  him,  as  she  paused  at  two 
paces'  distance,  it  was  easy  to  perceive  distrust,  and  a  certain 
inquietude. 

'Your  leisure  at  length  permits  you  to  visit  me,  dear  lord 
Basil,'  she  began  coldly. 

'  My  leisure,  indeed,'  he  replied,  '  has  not  been  great  since 
the  day  on  which  you  left  Surrentum.  But  the  more  plainly 
we  speak  to  each  other  the  better.  I  come  now  to  ask 
whether  you  will  release  Veranilda  to  me,  instead  of  waiting 
until  you  are  compelled  to  release  her  to  the  Greeks.' 

Before  replying,  Petronilla  clapped  her  hands,  then  stood 
waiting  for  a  moment,  and  said  at  length : 

1  You  can  now  speak  without  hearers.  I  did  not  think  you 
would  be  so  imprudent  in  your  words.  Go  on:  say  what 
you  will. 

She  seated  herself,  and  looked  at  Basil  with  a  contemptuous 
smile.  He,  surprised  by  her  behaviour,  spoke  on  with  angry 
carelessness. 

'I  neither  cared  before,  nor  do  I  now,  if  any  of  your 
servants  overhear  me.  No  more  credit  would  be  given  to 
anything  they  told  of  me  than  is  given  to  what  you  yourself 
say.  I  might  begin  by  warning  you  of  the  dangers  to  which 
you  are  exposed,  but  no  doubt  you  have  calculated  them,  and 
think  the  price  not  too  much  to  pay  for  your  revenge.  Well, 


128  VERANILDA 

with  your  revenge  I  have  no  wish  to  interfere.  Hold  Aurelia 
prisoner  as  long  as  you  will,  or  as  long  as  you  can.  I  speak 
only  of  Veranilda,  against  whom  you  can  feel  no  enmity. 
Will  you  release  her  to  me?  It  will  only  be  anticipating  by 
a  few  days  her  release  to  Bessas.  Veranilda  in  his  hands, 
trust  me,  he  will  care  little  what  becomes  of  Aurelia.' 

'  I  listen  to  you,'  replied  Petronilla,  '  because  I  am  curious  to 
learn  into  what  extravagances  your  ignoble  passion  drives  you. 
I  had  been  told,  but  could  hardly  believe,  that  you  charged  me 
with  having  seized  these  women.  Now  I  see  that  you  really 
are  foolish  enough  to  think  it.'  She  threw  her  head  back  in 
a  silent  laugh  of  scorn.  '  Child — for  you  are  a  child  in  wit 
though  man  in  years — do  you  not  live  at  large  in  Rome,  free 
to  come  and  go  as  you  will  ? ' 

'What  of  that?' 

'  Am  not  I  also  a  free  woman  ?  Did  I  not  yesterday  visit 
the  church  of  the  blessed  Petronilla,  and  might  I  not,  if  so  I 
had  willed,  have  escaped  instead  of  returning  to  the  city?' 

'What  has  this  to  do  with  the  matter?'  demanded  Basil. 

'  Child  !  child ! '  cried  the  other,  as  if  with  boundless  con- 
tempt. 'You  ask  that,  knowing  why  this  Veranilda  is  sought 
by  the  Greeks  ?  Were  they  truly  still  in  search  of  her,  and 
were  you,  were  I,  suspected  of  keeping  her  hidden,  do  you 
suppose  we  should  be  free,  and  not  rather  locked  as  close  as 
any  prison  in  Rome  could  hold  us  ? ' 

The  listener  stood  mute.  So  vehement  was  Petronilla's 
speech,  and  so  convincing,  thus  delivered,  seemed  her  argu- 
ment, that  Basil  felt  his  heart  sink.  Had  she,  then,  outwitted 
him  ?  Was  he  really  playing  the  part  of  a  simpleton,  at 
whom  people  laughed  ?  He  remembered  the  seeming  indif- 
ference of  Bessas  touching  Veranilda  at  the  second  interview, 
natural  enough  if  the  maiden  had  already  passed  into  the 
Greek's  hands.  Two  days  ago  Marcian  had  told  him  that 
Petronilla  must  needs  be  aware  of  Veranilda's  importance, 
seeing  that  it  was  now  common  knowledge  in  Roman  society. 
But  a  thought  flashed  into  his  mind,  and  he  lifted  up  his 
head  again. 


SEEKING  129 

'This  is  not  true!'  he  exclaimed.  'If  Bessas  had  found 
her,  I  should  have  known  it.' 

'Pray,  how?  Does  your  foolish  little  lordship  imagine 
that  Bessas  must  needs  have  told  you  all  he  has  done  ? ' 

'Bessas?  no,'  he  answered,  his  eyes  burning  with  hatred  as 
they  searched  her  face.  '  But  I  have  other  means  of  learning 
the  truth.  You  try  vainly  to  deceive  me.' 

'As  you  will,  good  nephew,'  said  the  lady,  as  if  indulgently. 
'Believe  as  you  list,  and  talk  on,  for  you  entertain  me.' 

'  One  thing  I  have  to  say,'  pursued  Basil,  '  which  you  will 
perhaps  find  less  amusing.'  He  had  lost  control  of  himself, 
and  spoke  in  a  low  tone  of  fierce  menace,  all  his  body  quiver- 
ing. '  If  I  learn  that  Veranilda  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Greeks, 
and  that  you  delivered  her  to  them — by  the  God  above  us, 
your  life  shall  pay  for  it.' 

Petronilla's  face  hardened  till  its  cruel  sternness  outdid  any 
expression  of  hatred  possible  to  Basil's  features. 

'  Keep  your  ruffian  threats  for  more  suitable  occasion,  such 
as  you  will  find  among  your  friends  the  Goths.'  She  spoke 
coldly  and  deliberately.  '  If  enslavement  to  a  yellow- haired 
barbarian  had  not  muddled  your  wits,  you  would  long  ago 
have  seen  who  it  was  that  has  played  you  false.' 

Basil  stared  at  her,  his  passion  chilled  with  surprise  and 
alarm. 

'  Played  me  false ! '  he  echoed  involuntarily. 

'Who  is  it,'  continued  Petronilla  with  slow  scorn,  'that 
you  have  trusted  blindly?  To  whom  have  you  looked  for 
guidance  and  protection?  Who  has  fostered  your  suspicion 
against  me? ' 

An  intolerable  pang  went  through  the  listener's  heart. 

1  That 's  but  another  lie ! '  he  exclaimed  furiously.  '  O 
basest  of  women  born  ! ' 

A  hand  was  upon  his  dagger.  Petronilla  rose  and  stepped 
back  a  little,  glancing  towards  one  of  the  drawn  curtains. 

'You  have  threatened  my  life,'  she  said  in  an  undertone. 
'Remember  that  it  is  you  who  are  in  my  power.  If  I  raise 
my  voice  on  one  word,  the  next  moment  you  will  lie  pierced 

I 


130  VERANILDA 

by  a  score  of  weapons.  Moderate  your  insults :  my  temper 
is  not  meek.' 

Basil  thought  for  a  moment  with  painful  intentness. 

'Speak  plainly,'  he  said  at  length.  'You  would  have  me 
suspect ?  I  am  ashamed  to  utter  the  name.' 

'  Keep  it  to  yourself  and  muse  upon  it.' 

'  You  dare  bid  me  think  that  he,  my  dearest  and  most  loyal 
friend,  has  infamously  betrayed  me?  Now  I  know  indeed 
that  you  have  lied  to  me  in  every  word,  for  this  is  the  last 
audacity  of  baseness.  You  hope  to  poison  my  soul  against 
him,  and  so,  whilst  guarding  yourself,  bring  more  evil  upon 
those  you  hate.  But  you  have  overreached  yourself.  Only 
cunning  driven  desperate  could  have  devised  this  trick. 
Listen  to  me  again,  before  it  is  too  late.  Give  me  Veranilda. 
I  take  upon  myself  all  the  peril.  It  shall  be  made  to  appear 
that  I  have  all  along  kept  her  in  hiding,  and  that  you  knew 
nothing  of  her.  Be  advised  before  the  worst  comes  upon 
you.  I  will  escape  with  her  to  a  place  of  safety  that  I  know 
of;  you  will  be  declared  innocent,  and  no  one  will  care  to 
ask  what  has  become  of  Aurelia.  Think  well ;  you  spoke  of 
prisons,  but  the  Greeks  have  worse  than  imprisonment  for 
those  who  incur  their  wrath.  Will  Bessas  forego  revenge 
when,  after  much  trouble,  he  has  wrested  the  captive  from 
your  hands  ?  Think ! ' 

Petronilla's  countenance,  fixed  as  a  face  in  marble,  still 
suggested  no  thought  save  one  of  scorn;  but  there  was  a 
brief  silence  before  she  replied. 

'  I  would  not  have  believed,'  she  said  calmly,  '  that  a  man 
could  be  so  besotted  with  foolish  passions.  Listen,  you  in 
turn.  Where  those  women  are,  I  know  as  little  as  do  you 
yourself.  I  think,  and  have  good  reason  for  thinking,  that 
the  Goth  is  already  on  her  way  to  Constantinople,  but  I  have 
no  certainty  of  it.  The  one  thing  I  do  surely  know,  is  that 
you  are  hoodwinked  and  baffled  by  the  man  you  trust.' 

A  groan  of  rage  and  anguish  broke  from  Basil.  He  wrung 
his  hands  together. 

'You  lie!     A  thousand  times  you  lie!     Either  Veranilda 


SEEKING  131 

or  Aurelia  is  in  this  house.  Who  was  it  you  brought  back  with 
you  yesterday  when  you  returned  from  beyond  the  walls  ? ' 

The  listener  uttered  a  short,  fierce  laugh. 

1  So  that  is  what  brought  you  here  ?  O  fool !  Think  you 
I  should  have  no  more  wisdom  than  that?  Since  you  must 
needs  pry  into  my  doings  yesterday,  you  shall  hear  them. 
I  went  to  the  church  of  the  holy  Petronilla,  to  pray  there 
against  all  the  dangers  that  environ  me — against  the  wiles  of 
the  wicked,  the  cruelty  of  violent  men,  the  sickness  which  is  rife 
about  us.  And  when  I  rose  from  before  the  altar,  the  servant 
of  God  who  passes  his  life  there,  who  is  pleased  to  regard  me 
with  kindness,  led  me  apart  into  the  sacristy,  where  sat  a 
woman  who  had  lost  her  sight.  She  had  travelled,  he  told 
me,  from  Mediolanum,  because  of  a  vision  in  which  she  had 
been  bidden  to  seek  the  tomb  of  the  daughter  of  the  chief 
Apostle ;  and,  whilst  praying  in  the  church,  her  darkness  had 
been  illumined  by  a  vision  of  the  saint  herself,  who  bade 
her  go  into  the  city,  and  abide  in  the  house  of  the  first  who 
offered  her  welcome,  and  there  at  length  she  would  surely 
receive  her  sight.  So  I  spoke  with  the  woman,  who,  though 
in  poverty,  is  of  noble  blood,  and  when  I  had  offered  to 
make  her  welcome,  she  gladly  came  with  me,  and  straight- 
way we  returned  to  Rome.  And  I  brought  with  me  oil  from 
the  lamp  of  the  saint,  wherewith,  at  the  hours  of  prayer, 
I  cross  my  forehead,  that  no  evil  may  befall  me.  So,  you 
hare  heard.  Believe  or  not,  as  you  list,  O  Basil.' 

Whether  true  or  not,  Basil  had  no  choice  but  to  accept  the 
story.  He  looked  helplessly  about  him.  If  by  killing  this 
woman  he  could  have  obtained  liberty  to  search  through 
every  chamber  of  the  great  house,  his  dagger  would  have 
leapt  at  her  breast;  and  that  Petronilla  well  knew;  whence 
the  defiant  look  in  her  eyes  as  they  watched  his  slightest 
movement. 

'What  is  your  next  question?'  she  said.  'I  am  at  leisure 
for  a  little  longer.' 

'If  Veranilda  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Greeks,  where  is 
Aurelia  ? ' 


132  VERANILDA 

'I  should  be  glad  to  think,'  replied  the  lady,  'that  she  has 
withdrawn  from  the  world  to  expiate  her  sins.' 

'Would  you  have  me  believe  that  Marcian  knows  that 
secret  also  ? ' 

1 1  respect  your  innocence,'  answered  Petronilla,  with  a 
smile,  'and  will  say  no  more.' 

Again  Basil  stood  for  a  moment  voiceless  in  wrath.  Then 
he  threw  up  an  arm,  and  spoke  with  terrible  vehemence. 

'  Woman,  if  you  have  lied  to  me,  wickedly  seeking  to  put 
enmity  between  me  and  my  friend,  may  the  pest  smite  you, 
and  may  you  perish  unforgiven  of  man  and  God ! ' 

Petronilla  blanched  not.  For  one  instant  he  glared  at  her, 
and  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XII 

HELIODORA 

MARCIAN'S  abode  was  in  the  Via  Lata,  the  thoroughfare 
which  ran  straight  and  broad,  directly  northwards,  from  the 
Capitoline  Hill  to  the  Flaminian  Gate.  Hard  by  were  the 
headquarters  of  the  city  watch,  a  vast  building,  now  tenanted 
by  a  few  functionaries  whose  authority  had  fallen  into  con- 
tempt ;  and  that  long  colonnade  of  Hadrian,  called  the  Septa, 
where  merchants  once  exposed  their  jewels  and  fabrics  to  the 
crowd  of  sauntering  wealthy,  and  where  nowadays  a  few 
vendors  of  slaves  did  their  business  amid  the  crumbling 
columns.  Surrounded  by  these  monuments  of  antiquity,  the 
few  private  residences  still  inhabited  had  a  dreary,  if  not  a 
mean,  aspect.  Some  of  them — and  Marcian's  dwelling  was 
one — had  been  built  in  latter  times  with  material  taken  from 
temple  or  portico  or  palace  in  ruins ;  thus  they  combined  rich- 
ness of  detail  with  insignificant  or  clumsy  architecture.  An 
earthquake  of  a  few  years  ago,  followed  by  a  great  inundation 
of  the  Tiber,  had  wrought  disaster  among  these  modern 
structures.  A  pillar  of  Marcian's  porch,  broken  into  three 
pieces,  had  ever  since  been  lying  before  the  house,  and  a 
marble  frieze,  superb  carving  of  the  Antonine  age,  which 
ran  across  the  fa£ade,  showed  gaps  where  pieces  had  been 
shattered  away. 

His  family,  active  in  public  services  under  Theodoric,  had 
suffered  great  losses  in  the  early  years  of  the  war;  and 
Marcian,  who,  as  a  very  young  man,  held  a  post  under  the 
Praetorian  Prefect  at  Ravenna,  found  himself  reduced  to 
narrow  circumstances.  After  the  fall  of  Ravenna,  he  came 

138 


134  VERANILDA 

to  Rome  (accompanied  on  the  journey  by  Basil,  with  whom 
his  intimacy  then  began),  and  ere  long,  necessity  driving  him 
to  expedients  for  which  he  had  no  natural  inclination,  he 
entered  upon  that  life  of  double  treachery  which  he  had 
avowed  to  his  friend.  As  the  world  went,  Marcian  was  an 
honest  man :  he  kept  before  him  an  ideal  of  personal  recti- 
tude ;  he  believed  himself,  and  hitherto  with  reason,  incap- 
able of  falsity  to  those  who  trusted  him  in  the  relations  of 
private  life.  Moreover,  he  had  a  sense  of  religion,  which  at 
times,  taking  the  form  of  an  overpowering  sense  of  sin, 
plunged  him  into  gloom.  Though  burdened  in  conscience 
with  no  crime,  he  was  subject  in  a  notable  degree  to  that 
malady  of  his  world,  the  disposition  to  regard  all  human 
kind,  and  himself  especially,  as  impure,  depraved.  Often  at 
the  mercy  of  his  passions,  he  refrained  from  marriage  chiefly 
on  this  very  account,  the  married  state  seeming  to  him  a  mere 
compromise  with  the  evil  of  the  flesh ;  but  in  his  house  were 
two  children,  born  to  him  by  a  slave  now  dead,  and  these  he 
would  already  have  sent  into  a  monastery,  but  that  human 
affection  struggled  against  what  he  deemed  duty.  The  man 
lived  in  dread  of  eternal  judgment;  he  could  not  look  at  a 
setting  sun  without  having  his  thought  turned  to  the  fires 
of  hell,  and  a  night  of  wakefulness,  common  enough  in  his 
imperfect  health,  shook  him  with  horrors  unutterable.  Being 
of  such  mind  and  temper,  it  was  strange  that  he  had  not  long 
ago  joined  the  multitude  of  those  who  day  by  day  fled  from 
worldly  life  into  ascetic  seclusion ;  what  withheld  him  was  a 
spark  of  the  ancestral  spirit,  some  drops  of  the  old  Roman 
blood,  prompting  his  human  nature  to  assert  and  justify 
itself.  Hence  the  sympathy  between  him  and  Basil,  both 
being  capable  of  patriotism,  and  feeling  a  desire  in  the  depths 
of  their  hearts  to  live  as  they  would  have  lived  had  they  been 
born  in  an  earlier  time.  But  whereas  Basil  nursed  this  disposi- 
tion, regarding  it  as  altogether  laudable,  Marcian  could  only 
see  in  it  an  outcome  of  original  sin,  and  after  every  indulg- 
ence of  such  mundane  thoughts  did  penance  as  for  something 
worse  than  weakness.  His  father  had  died  in  an  anguish  of 


HELIODORA  135 

compunction  for  a  life  stained  with  sensuality;  his  mother 
had  killed  herself  by  excessive  rigours  of  penitence;  these 
examples  were  ever  before  his  mind.  Yet  he  seldom  spoke, 
save  to  spiritual  counsellors,  of  this  haunting  trouble,  and 
only  the  bitterness  of  envy,  an  envy  entirely  human,  had 
drawn  from  him  the  words  which  so  astonished  Basil  in  their 
last  conversation.  Indeed,  the  loves  of  Basil  and  Veranilda 
made  a  tumult  in  his  soul ;  at  times  it  seemed  to  him  that  he 
hated  his  friend,  so  intolerable  was  the  jealousy  that  racked 
him.  Veranilda  he  had  never  seen,  but  the  lover's  rapture 
had  created  in  his  imagination  a  face  and  form  of  matchless 
beauty  which  he  could  not  cease  from  worshipping.  He 
took  this  for  a  persecution  of  the  fiend,  and  strove  against 
it  by  all  methods  known  to  him.  About  his  body  he  wore 
things  that  tortured;  he  fasted  to  the  point  of  exhaustion; 
he  slept — if  sleep  came  to  him — on  a  bare  stone  floor ;  some 
hours  of  each  day  he  spent  in  visiting  churches,  where  he 
prayed  ardently. 

Basil,  when  he  had  rushed  forth  from  the  Anicianum,  rode 
straightway  to  the  Via  Lata,  and  presented  hmself  at  Marcian's 
door.  The  porter  said  that  his  master  had  been  absent  since 
dawn,  but  Basil  none  the  less  entered,  and,  in  the  room 
where  he  and  his  friend  were  wont  to  talk,  threw  himself 
upon  a  couch  to  wait.  He  lay  sunk  in  the  most  sombre 
thoughts,  until  at  the  door  appeared  Sagaris,  who  with  the 
wonted  suave  servility,  begged  permission  to  speak  to  him. 

{ Speak  on,'  said  Basil  gloomily,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  the 
oriental  visage,  so  little  reassuring  to  one  harassed  by  sus- 
picions. 

'  It  is  regarding  my  dear  lord,  Illustrious,  that  I  would  say 
a  humble  word,  if  your  nobility  will  bear  with  me.' 

'  What  can  that  be  ? ' 

'  I  am  guilty,  I  know,  of  much  presumption,  but  I  entreat 
your  nobility's  patience,  for  in  truth  it  is  only  my  love  and 
my  fears  that  embolden  me  to  speak.  What  I  would  make 
known  to  you,  Illustrious,  is  that  for  more  than  two  whole 
days  my  dear  lord  has  not  broken  bread.  Since  our  return 


136  VERANILDA 

to  Rome  he  has  fasted  all  but  continuously,  at  the  same  time 
inflicting  upon  himself  many  other  penances  of  the  severest 
kind.  For  this,  I  well  know,  he  will  have  his  reward  in  the 
eternal  life ;  but  when  I  note  his  aspect,  I  am  overcome  with 
fear  lest  we  should  lose  him  too  soon.  This  morning,  when 
I  was  helping  him  to  dress,  he  sank  down,  and  lay  for  a  time 
as  one  dead.  My  lord  would  rebuke  me  severely  if  he  knew 
that  I  had  ventured  to  speak  of  these  things ;  but  with  you, 
Illustrious,  I  feel  that  I  am  in  no  danger.  You  will  under- 
stand me,  and  pardon  me.' 

Basil  had  raised  himself  to  a  sitting  position.  Supporting 
himself  on  one  hand,  he  stared  straight  before  him,  and  only 
spoke  when  a  movement  on  the  part  of  the  servant  betrayed 
impatience. 

'This  has  gone  on,  you  say,  since  your  return  to  Rome? 
Was  it  your  lord's  habit  to  do  such  penance  on  his  travels? ' 

'  Never  in  this  extreme,  though  I  have  always  marvelled  at 
his  piety.' 

Again  Basil  kept  a  long  silence. 

1  You  have  done  well  to  tell  me,'  he  said  at  length ;  then, 
with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  dismissed  the  Syrian. 

It  was  nearly  mid-day  when  Marcian  returned.  At  the 
sight  of  Basil  his  pale,  weary  countenance  assumed  a 
troubled  smile.  He  embraced  his  friend,  kissing  him  affec- 
tionately on  both  cheeks,  and  sat  down  by  him  with  a  sigh 
of  fatigue. 

'What  makes  you  so  wan?'  asked  Basil,  peering  into 
his  eyes. 

'  I  sleep  ill.' 

'  Why  so  ?     Is  it  pain  or  thought  that  keeps  you  wakeful  ? ' 

'  Both,  perhaps,'  answered  Marcian.  He  paused,  reflected 
gloomily,  and  went  on  in  a  subdued  voice.  '  Do  you  think 
often,  Basil,  of  the  eternal  fire  ? ' 

'Not  often.     Sometimes,  of  course.' 

'  Last  night  I  had  a  dream,  which  assuredly  was  a  tempta- 
tion of  the  evil  one.  My  father  stood  before  me,  and  said, 
"  Fear  not,  Marcian,  for  there  is  no  Gehenna.  It  is  but  the 
vision  of  man's  tormented  conscience."  And  I  awoke  with  a 


HELIODORA  137 

great  joy.  But  at  once  the  truth  came  upon  me ;  and  until 
dawn  I  prayed  for  strength  to  resist  that  perilous  solace. 
This  morning  I  have  talked  long  with  a  holy  man,  opening 
my  heart  to  him,  that  he  might  finally  resolve  my  doubts.  I 
said  to  him :  "  Slaves  who  have  committed  a  fault  are  punished 
that  they  may  amend.  To  what  purpose  is  the  punishment 
of  the  wicked  after  death,  since  there  can  be  no  amend- 
ment ?  "  and  he  replied :  "  My  son,  the  wicked  are  punished 
in  Gehenna  that  the  just  may  feel  gratitude  to  the  divine  grace 
which  has  preserved  them  from  such  a  doom."  "But,"  I 
objected,  "  ought  not  the  just  to  pray  for  their  enemies  in  such 
evil  case  ?  "  His  answer  was  prompt :  "  The  time  for  prayer 
is  past.  The  blessed  concur  in  the  judgment  of  God  ! " ' 

Basil  listened  with  bent  head. 

'  Maximus,'  he  said  presently,  '  often  doubted  of  eternal 
torment;  and  my  cousin  Decius  has  more  than  once  con- 
fessed to  me  that  he  believes  it  not  at  all,  being  strengthened 
therein  by  his  friend  the  philosopher  Simplicius.  I,  O  Marcian, 
would  fain  think  it  a  dream — yet  there  are  evil  doings  in  this 
world  which  make  me  fear  that  it  may  be  true.' 

'  You  have  seen  Bessas  again  ? ' 

'  Yes.     And  I  have  seen  Petronilla.' 

His  eyes  on  the  listener,  Basil  recounted  his  conversation 
of  this  morning,  all  save  that  part  of  it  which  related  to 
Marcian.  He  could  detect  no  sign  of  guilty  uneasiness  in 
his  friend's  face,  but  saw  that  Marcian  grew  very  thoughtful. 

'Is  not  this  a  shamelessness  in  falsehood  which  passes 
belief  ? '  were  his  last  words. 

'  If  indeed  it  be  falsehood,'  replied  Marcian,  meeting  the 
other's  eyes.  '  I  will  confess  that,  this  day  or  two,  I  have 
suspected  Bessas  of  knowing  more  than  he  pretends.' 

'  What  ?  '  Basil  exclaimed.  '  You  think  Veranilda  is  really 
in  his  power  ? ' 

Marcian  answered  with  a  return  to  the  old  irony. 

'  I  would  not  venture  to  set  bounds  to  the  hypocrisy  and 
the  mendacity  and  the  pertinacity  of  woman,  but,  after  another 
conversation  with  Petronilla,  I  am  shaken  in  my  belief  that  she 
still  holds  her  prisoners.  She  may,  in  truth,  have  surrendered 


138  VERANILDA 

them.  What  makes  me  inclined  to  think  it,  is  the  fierceness 
with  which  she  now  turns  on  me,  accusing  me  of  the  whole  plot 
from  the  first.  That,  look  you,  would  be  sweet  revenge  to  a 
woman  defeated.  Why,'  he  added,  with  a  piercing  but  kindly 
look,  '  do  you  hide  from  me  that  she  sought  to  persuade  you 
of  my  treachery  ?  Is  it,  O  Basil,  because  you  feared  lest  she 
spoke  the  truth  ? ' 

Flushing  under  that  honest  gaze,  Basil  sprang  up  and 
seized  his  friend's  hand.  Tears  came  into  his  eyes  as  he 
avowed  the  truth  and  entreated  pardon. 

'  It  was  only  because  misery  has  made  me  all  but  mad. 
Nay,  I  knew  that  she  lied,  but  I  could  not  rest  till  I  had  the 
assurance  of  it  from  your  own  lips.  You  think,  then,  dearest 
Marcian,  that  Veranilda  is  lost  to  me  for  ever  ?  You  believe 
it  is  true  that  she  is  already  on  the  way  to  Constantinople?' 

Marcian  hoped  it  with  all  his  heart,  for  with  the  disappear- 
ance of  Veranilda  this  strange,  evil  jealousy  of  his  would  fade 
away ;  and  he  had  many  reasons  for  thinking  that  the  loss  of 
his  Gothic  love  would  be  the  best  thing  that  could  happen 
to  Basil.  At  the  same  time,  he  felt  his  friend's  suffering,  and 
could  not  bring  himself  to  inflict  another  wound. 

'  If  so,'  he  replied,  '  the  Greek  has  less  confidence  in  me 
than  I  thought,  and  I  must  take  it  as  a  warning.  It  may  be. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  is  the  possibility  that  Petronilla's 
effrontery  outwits  us  all.  Of  course  she  has  done  her  best 
to  ruin  both  of  us,  and  perhaps  is  still  trying  to  persuade 
Bessas  that  you  keep  Veranilda  in  hiding,  whilst  I  act  as 
your  accomplice.  If  this  be  the  case,  we  shall  both  of  us 
know  the  smell  of  a  prison  before  long,  and  perchance  the 
taste  of  torture.  What  say  you  ?  Shall  we  wait  for  that 
chance,  or  speed  away  into  Campania,  and  march  with  the 
king  against  Neapolis  ? ' 

Though  he  smiled,  there  was  no  mistaking  Marcian's 
earnestness.  For  the  moment  he  had  shaken  off  his  visions 
of  Tartarus,  and  was  his  saner  self  once  more. 

'If  I  knew  that  she  has  gone!'  cried  Basil  wretchedly. 
'If  I  knew!' 


HELIODORA  139 

'  So  you  take  your  chance  ? ' 

'Listen!  You  speak  of  prison,  of  torture.  Marcian,  can 
you  not  help  me  to  capture  that  woman,  and  to  get  from  her 
the  truth  ? ' 

Basil's  face  grew  terrible  as  he  spoke.  He  quivered,  his 
teeth  ground  together. 

'I,  too,  have  thought  of  it,'  replied  the  other  coldly. 
c  But  it  is  difficult  and  dangerous.' 

They  talked  yet  awhile,  until  Marcian,  who  looked  cadaver- 
ous, declared  his  need  of  food,  and  they  went  to  the  mid-day 
meal. 

A  few  days  went  by.  Basil  was  occupied  with  the  business 
of  his  inheritance.  He  had  messengers  to  despatch  to  estates 
in  Lucania  and  Apulia.  Then  came  news  that  a  posses- 
sion of  Maximus'  in  the  south  had  been  invaded  and  seized 
by  a  neighbour ;  for  which  outrage  there  was  little  hope  of 
legal  remedy  in  the  present  state  of  affairs ;  only  by  the 
strong  hand  could  Basil  vindicate  his  right.  Trouble  was 
caused  him  by  a  dispute  with  one  of  the  legatees,  a  poor 
kinsman  who  put  an  unexpected  interpretation  upon  the  item 
of  the  will  which  concerned  him.  Another  poor  kinsman, 
to  whom  Maximus  had  bequeathed  a  share  in  certain  pro- 
perty in  Rome,  wished  to  raise  money  on  this  security. 
Basil  himself  could  not  lend  the  desired  sum,  for,  though 
lord  of  great  estates,  he  found  himself,  after  Chorsoman's 
pillage  of  the  strong  room  at  Surrentum,  scarcely  able  to 
meet  immediate  claims  upon  him  under  the  will ;  but  he 
consented  to  accompany  his  relative  to  a  certain  money- 
changer, of  whom  perchance  a  loan  might  be  obtained. 
This  man  of  business,  an  Alexandrian,  had  his  office  on  the 
Capitoline  Hill,  in  that  open  space  between  the  Capitol  and 
the  Arx,  where  merchants  were  still  found ;  he  sat  in  a 
shadowed  corner  of  a  portico,  before  him  a  little  table  on 
which  coins  were  displayed,  and  at  his  back  a  small  dark 
shop,  whence  came  a  confused  odour  of  stuffs  and  spices. 
Long  and  difficult  were  the  negotiations.  To  Basil's  surprise, 
the  Alexandrian,  though  treating  him  with  the  utmost 


140  VERANILDA 

respect,  evidently  gave  little  weight  to  his  guarantee  in  money 
matters ;  as  to  property  in  Rome,  he  seemed  to  regard  it  as 
the  most  insubstantial  of  securities.  Only  on  gems  and 
precious  metals  would  he  consent  to  lend  a  sum  of  any  im- 
portance. 

Whilst  this  debate  was  in  progress,  a  litter,  gaudy  and 
luxurious,  borne  by  eight  slaves  clad  in  yellow,  with  others 
like  them  before  and  behind,  came  to  a  stop  close  by,  and 
from  it  alighted  a  lady  whose  gorgeous  costume  matched  the 
brilliance  of  her  vehicle  and  retinue.  She  was  young  and 
beautiful,  with  dark,  oriental  features,  and  a  bearing  which 
aimed  at  supremity  of  arrogance.  Having  stepped  down, 
she  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  portico,  languidly  gazing  this 
way  and  that,  with  the  plain  intention  of  exhibiting  herself 
to  the  loiterers  whom  her  appearance  drew  together ;  at  every 
slightest  movement,  the  clink  of  metal  sounded  from  her 
neck,  her  arms,  her  ankles ;  stones  glistened  on  her  brow 
and  on  her  hands ;  about  her  she  shed  a  perfume  like  that 
wafted  from  the  Arabian  shore. 

The  Greek  merchant,  as  soon  as  he  was  aware  of  her 
arrival,  ran  forward  and  stood  obsequiously  before  her,  until 
she  deigned  to  notice  him. 

4 1  would  speak  with  you.     See  that  we  are  private.' 

'Noble  lady,'  he  replied,  'the  lord  Basilius,  heir  of  the 
Senator  Maximus,  is  within.  I  will  straightway  beg  him  to 
defer  his  business.' 

The  lady  turned  and  gazed  into  the  dusky  shop. 

'  He  is  not  alone,  I  see.' 

4  A  kinsman  is  with  him,  noble  lady.' 

'  Then  bid  the  kinsman  go  his  way,  and  keep  apart,  you, 
until  you  are  summoned.  I  will  speak  for  a  moment  with 
the  lord  Basilius.' 

The  Alexandrian,  masking  a  smile,  drew  near  to  Basil, 
and  whispered  that  the  lady  Heliodora  demanded  to  see  him 
alone.  A  gesture  of  annoyance  was  the  first  reply,  but,  after 
an  instant's  reflection,  Basil  begged  his  kinsman  to  withdraw. 
Heliodora  then  entered  the  shop,  which  was  nothing  more 


HELIODORA  141 

than  an  open  recess,  with  a  stone  counter  half  across  the 
entrance,  and  behind  it  a  couple  of  wooden  stools.  Upon 
one  of  these  the  lady  seated  herself,  and  Basil,  who  had 
greeted  her  only  with  a  movement  of  the  head,  stood  waiting. 

'So  you  will  not  sup  with  me?'  began  Heliodora,  in  a 
voice  of  bantering  indifference.  '  You  will  not  come  to  see 
me  ?  You  will  not  write  to  me  ?  It  is  well.  I  care  less  than 
the  clipping  of  a  finger-nail.' 

'  So  I  would  have  it,'  Basil  replied  coldly. 

1  Good.  Then  we  are  both  satisfied.  This  is  much  better 
than  making  pretence  of  what  we  don't  feel,  and  playing  a 
comedy  with  our  two  selves  for  spectators.  You  amused  me 
for  a  while ;  that  is  over ;  now  you  amuse  me  in  another 
way.  Turn  a  little  towards  the  light.  Let  me  have  a  look 
at  your  pretty  face,  Basilidion.' 

She  spoke  with  a  Greek  accent,  mingling  now  and  then 
with  the  Roman  speech  a  Greek  word  or  exclamation,  and 
her  voice,  sonorous  rather  than  melodious,  one  moment 
seemed  about  to  strike  the  note  of  anger,  at  another  seemed 
softening  to  tenderness. 

'With  your  leave,'  said  Basil,  CI  will  be  gone.  I  have 
matters  of  some  importance  to  attend  to.' 

'  With  your  leave,'  echoed  Heliodora,  '  I  will  detain  you 
yet  a  little.  For  you,  Basilidion,  there  is  only  one  matter 
of  importance,  and  it  may  be  that  I  can  serve  you  better 
therein  than  any  you  esteem  your  graver  friends.  There, 
now,  I  see  your  face.  Holy  Mary  !  how  wan  and  worn  it  is. 
From  my  heart  I  pity  you,  Basilidion.  Come  now,  tell  me 
the  story.  I  have  heard  fifty  versions,  some  credible,  some 
plain  fable.  Confide  in  me ;  who  knows  but  I  may  help  you.' 

'  Scoff  as  you  will,'  was  his  answer.  '  It  is  your  privilege. 
But  in  truth,  lady,  I  have  little  time  to  waste.' 

1  And  in  truth,  lord,  your  courtesy  has  suffered  since  you 
began  to  peck  and  pine  for  this  little  Hun.' 

1  Hun  ? ' 

1  Oh,  I  cry  pardon  !  Goth,  I  should  have  said.  Indeed, 
there  are  degrees  of  barbarism — but,  as  you  will.  I  say 


142  VERANILDA 

again,  I  care  not  the  clipping  of  my  smallest  nail.'  She 
held  her  hand  towards  him ;  very  white  it  was,  and  soft 
and  shapely,  but  burdened  with  too  many  rings.  '  Tell  me 
all,  and  I  will  help  you.  Tell  me  nothing,  and  have  nothing 
for  your  pains.' 

1  Help  me  ? '  exclaimed  Basil,  in  scornful  impatience. 
'  Am  I  such  a  fool  as  to  think  you  would  wish  to  help  me, 
even  if  you  could  ? ' 

'  Listen  to  me,  Basil.'  She  spoke  in  a  deep  note  which 
was  half  friendliness,  half  menace.  '  I  am  not  wont  to  have 
my  requests  refused.  Leave  me  thus,  and  you  have  one 
more  enemy — an  enemy  more  to  be  dreaded  than  all  the  rest. 
Already  I  know  something  of  this  story,  and  I  can  know  the 
whole  of  it  as  soon  as  I  will ;  but  what  I  want  now  is  to  hear 
the  truth  about  your  part  in  it.  You  have  lost  your  little 
Goth ;  of  that  I  need  no  assurance.  But  tell  me  how  it 
came  about.' 

Basil  stood  with  bent  head.  In  the  portico,  at  a  little 
distance,  there  began  to  sound  the  notes  of  a  flute  played  by 
some  itinerant  musician. 

'You  dare  refuse  me?'  said  Heliodora,  after  waiting  a 
moment.  '  You  are  a  bolder  man  than  I  thought.' 

1  Ask  what  you  wish  to  know,'  broke  from  the  other. 
c  Recount  to  you  I  will  not.  Put  questions,  and  I  will  reply 
if  I  think  fit.' 

'  Good.' 

Heliodora  smiled,  with  a  movement  which  made  all  her 
trappings  of  precious  metal  jingle  as  though  triumphantly. 
And  she  began  to  question,  tracking  out  all  Basil's  relations 
with  Veranilda  from  their  first  meeting  at  Cumae  to  the  day 
of  the  maiden's  disappearance.  His  answers,  forced  from  him 
partly  by  vague  fear,  partly  by  as  vague  a  hope,  were  the 
briefest  possible,  but  in  every  case  he  told  the  truth. 

'  It  is  well,'  said  Heliodora,  when  the  interrogation  was 
over.  '  Poor,  poor  Basilidion  !  How  ill  he  has  been  used  ! 
And  not  even  a  kiss  from  the  little  Goth.  Or  am  I  mis- 
taken ?  Perhaps ' 


HELIODORA  143 

'  Be  silent ! '  exclaimed  Basil  harshly. 

'  Oh,  I  will  not  pry  into  chaste  secrets.  For  the  present, 
enough.  Go  your  ways,  Basil,  and  take  courage.  I  keep 
faith,  as  you  know ;  and  that  I  am  disposed  to  be  your 
friend,  is  not  your  standing  here,  alive  and  well,  a  sufficient 
proof? ' 

She  had  risen,  and,  as  she  uttered  these  words,  her  eyes 
gleamed  large  in  the  dusk. 

'When  you  wish  to  see  me,'  she  added,  'come  to  my 
house.  To  you  it  is  always  open.  I  may  perchance  send 
you  a  message.  If  so,  pay  heed  to  it.' 

Basil  was  turning  away. 

'  What !  Not  even  the  formal  courtesy  ?  Your  manners 
have  indeed  declined,  my  poor  Basil.' 

With  an  abrupt,  awkward  movement,  he  took  her  half 
offered  hand,  and  touched  the  rings  with  his  lips ;  then  has- 
tened away. 

On  the  edge  of  the  cluster  of  idlers  who  were  listening  to 
the  flute  player  stood  his  needy  kinsman.  Basil  spoke  with 
him  for  a  moment,  postponed  their  business,  and,  with  a 
sign  to  the  two  slaves  in  attendance,  walked  on.  By  the 
Clivus  Argentarius  he  descended  to  the  Forum.  In  front  of 
the  Curia  stood  the  state  carriage  of  the  City  Prefect,  for  the 
Senate  had  been  called  together  this  morning  to  hear  read 
some  decree  newly  arrived  from  Byzantium ;  and  as  Basil 
drew  near  he  saw  the  Prefect,  with  senators  about  him,  come 
forth  and  descend  the  steps.  These  dignitaries,  who  wore 
with  but  ill  grace  the  ancient  toga,  were  evidently  little 
pleased  by  what  they  had  heard;  they  talked  under  their 
breath  together,  many  of  them,  no  doubt,  recalling  sadly  the 
honour  they  were  wont  to  receive  from  King  Theodoric.  As 
their  president  drove  away,  Basil,  gazing  idly  after  the 
carpentum,  felt  himself  touched  on  the  arm;  he  looked 
round  and  saw  Decius,  whose  panting  breath  declared  his 
haste,  whilst  his  countenance  was  eloquent  of  ill. 

'I  come  from  the  Anicianum,'  Decius  whispered,  'and 
bring  terrible  news.  Petronilla  lies  dying  of  the  pest.' 


144  VERANILDA 

Dazed  as  if  under  a  violent  blow,  Basil  stretched  out  his 
hand.  It  touched  the  wall  of  the  little  temple  of  Janus,  in 
the  shadow  of  which  they  were  standing. 

'The  pest  ? '  he  echoed  faintly. 

'  She  was  seized  in  the  night.  Some  one  in  the  house — some 
woman,  they  tell  me,  whom  she  brought  with  her  a  few  days 
ago,  I  know  not  whence — is  just  dead.  I  have  sped  hither  in 
search  of  any  one  with  whom  I  could  speak  of  it ;  God  be 
thanked  that  I  have  met  you !  I  went  to  fetch  away  books, 
as  you  know.' 

1 1  must  go  there,'  said  Basil,  gazing  about  him  to  find  his 
slaves.  '  I  must  go  straightway.' 

'  Why  ?    The  danger  is  great.' 

'It  may  be' — this  was  spoken  into  Decius'  ear — 'that 
Veranilda  is  imprisoned  there.  I  have  proof  now,  awful 
proof,  that  Petronilla  lied  to  me.  I  must  enter,  and  seek.' 

Hard  by  were  litters  for  public  hire.  Bidding  his  slaves 
follow,  Basil  had  himself  carried,  fast  as  bearers  could  run, 
towards  the  Anicianum.  Not  even  fear  of  the  pestilence 
could  withhold  him.  His  curse  upon  Petronilla  had  been 
heard ;  the  Almighty  God  had  smitten  her ;  would  not  the 
same  Power  protect  him  ?  He  prayed  mentally,  beseeching 
the  intercession  of  the  Virgin,  of  the  saints.  He  made  a  vow 
that,  did  he  recover  Veranilda,  he  would  not  rest  until  he 
had  won  her  conversion  to  the  Catholic  faith. 

Without  the  Anicianum,  nothing  indicated  disturbance, 
but  as  soon  as  he  had  knocked  at  the  door  it  was  thrown 
wide  open,  and  he  saw,  gathered  in  the  vestibule,  a  crowd  of 
dismayed  servants.  Two  or  three  of  them,  whom  he  knew 
well,  hurried  forward,  eager  to  speak.  He  learnt  that 
physicians  were  with  the  sick  lady,  and  that  the  presbyter  of 
St.  Cecilia,  for  whom  she  had  sent  in  the  early  morning, 
remained  by  her  side.  No  member  of  the  family  (save 
Decius)  had  yet  come,  though  messages  had  been  despatched 
to  several.  Unopposed,  Basil  entered  the  atrium,  and  there 
spoke  with  Petronilla's  confidential  freedman. 

'  Leo,  your  mistress  is  dying.     Speak  the  truth  to  me,  and 


HELIODORA  145 

you  shall  be  rewarded ;  refuse  to  answer,  or  lie  to  me,  and  I 
swear  by  the  Cross  that  you  shall  suffer.  Who  was  the 
woman  that  died  here  yesterday?' 

The  freedman  answered  without  hesitation,  telling  the 
same  story  Basil  had  already  heard  from  Petronilla. 

1  Good.    She  has  been  buried  ? ' 

c  She  was  carried  out  before  dawn.' 

'Tell  me  now,  upon  your  salvation,  is  any  one  kept 
prisoner  here  ? ' 

Leo,  an  elderly  man,  his  eyes  red  with  tears  and  his 
hands  tremulous,  gazed  meaningly  at  the  questioner. 

'No  one;  no  one,'  he  answered  under  his  breath.  'I 
swear  it  to  you,  O  lord  Basil.' 

'  Come  with  me  through  the  house.' 

1  But  Leo,  moving  nearer,  begged  that  he  might  be  heard 
and  believed.  He  understood  the  meaning  of  these  inquiries, 
for  he  had  been  with  his  mistress  at  Surrentum.  They  whom 
Basil  sought  were  not  here ;  all  search  would  be  useless ;  in 
proof  of  this  Leo  offered  the  evidence  of  his  wife,  who  could 
reveal  something  of  moment  which  she  had  learnt  only  a 
few  hours  ago.  The  woman  was  called,  and  Basil  spoke 
apart  with  her;  he  learnt  that  Petronilla,  as  soon  as  her 
pains  began,  sent  a  messenger  to  the  deacon  Leander,  entreat- 
ing him  to  come ;  but  Leander  had  only  yesterday  set  out  on 
a  journey,  and  would  not  be  back  for  a  week  or  more.  Hear- 
ing this,  the  stricken  lady  fell  into  an  anguish  of  mind  worse 
even  than  that  of  the  body ;  she  uttered  words  signifying 
repentance  for  some  ill-doing,  and,  after  a  while,  said  to  those 
who  were  beside  her — a  physician  and  the  speaker — that,  if 
she  died,  they  were  to  make  known  to  Bessas  that  the 
deacon  Leander,  he  and  he  alone,  could  tell  all.  Having 
said  this,  Petronilla  became  for  a  time  calmer;  but  her 
sufferings  increased,  and  suddenly  she  bade  summon  the 
presbyter  of  St.  Cecilia's  church.  With  him  she  spoke  alone, 
and  for  a  long  time.  Since,  she  had  uttered  no  word  touch- 
ing worldly  matters  j  the  woman  believed  that  she  was  now 
unconscious. 

K 


146  VERANILDA 

'  And  you  swear  to  me,'  said  Basil,  who  quivered  as  he 
listened,  '  that  this  is  the  truth  and  all  you  know?' 

Leo's  wife  swore  by  everything  sacred  on  earth,  and  by  all 
the  powers  of  heaven,  that  she  had  falsified  nothing,  con- 
cealed nothing.  Thereupon  Basil  turned  to  go  away.  In 
the  vestibule,  the  slaves  knelt  weeping  before  him,  some 
with  entreaties  to  be  permitted  to  leave  this  stricken  house, 
some  imploring  advice  against  the  plague ;  men  and  women 
alike,  all  were  beside  themselves  with  terror.  In  this  moment 
there  came  a  knocking  at  the  entrance ;  the  porter  ran  to 
open,  and  admitted  Gordian.  Basil  and  he,  who  had  not 
met  since  the  day  of  the  family  gathering,  spoke  together  in 
the  portico.  He  had  come,  said  Gordian,  in  the  fear  that 
Petronilla  had  been  forsaken  by  all  her  household,  as  some- 
times happened  to  those  infected.  Had  it  been  so,  he  would 
have  held  it  a  duty  to  approach  her  with  what  solace  he 
could.  As  it  was,  physician  and  priest  and  servants  being 
here,  he  durst  not  risk  harm  to  his  own  family ;  but  he  would 
hold  himself  in  readiness,  if  grave  occasion  summoned  him. 
So  Gordian  remounted  his  horse,  and  rode  back  home. 

Basil  lingered.  He  no  longer  entertained  the  suspicion  that 
Veranilda  might  be  here,  but  he  thought  that,  could  he  speak 
with  Petronilla  herself,  penitence  might  prompt  her  to  tell 
him  where  the  captive  lay  hidden.  It  surprised  him  not  at 
all  to  hear  Leander's  name  as  that  of  her  confidant  in  the 
matter,  though  hitherto  his  thought  had  not  turned  in  that 
direction.  Leander  signified  the  Church,  and  what  hope 
was  there  that  he  could  gain  his  end  against  such  an 
opponent? — more  formidable  than  Bessas,  more  powerful, 
perhaps,  than  Justinian.  Were  Veranilda  imprisoned  in 
some  monastery,  he  might  abandon  hope  of  beholding  her 
again  on  this  side  of  the  grave. 

Yet  it  was  something  to  know  that  she  had  not  passed  into 
the  hands  of  the  Greeks ;  that  she  was  not  journeying  to 
the  Byzantine  court,  there  to  be  wedded  against  her  will. 
Cheered  by  this,  he  felt  an  impulse  of  daring ;  he  would  see 
Petronilla. 


HELIODORA  147 

c  Leo  !     Lead  me  to  the  chamber.' 

The  freedman  besought  him  not  to  be  so  rash,  but  Basil 
was  possessed  with  furious  resolve.  He  drove  the  servant 
before  him,  through  the  atrium,  into  a  long  corridor.  Sud- 
denly the  silence  was  broken  by  a  shriek  of  agony,  so  terrible 
that  Basil  felt  his  blood  chilled  to  the  very  heart.  This  cry 
came  again,  echoing  fearfully  through  the  halls  and  galleries 
of  this  palace  of  marble.  The  servants  had  fled;  Basil 
dropped  to  his  knees,  crossed  himself,  prayed,  the  sweat 
standing  upon  his  forehead.  A  footstep  approached  him ; 
he  rose,  and  saw  the  physician  who  had  been  with  Maximus 
at  Surrentum. 

'  Does  she  still  live  ?  '  he  asked. 

'  If  life  it  can  be  called.    What  do  you  here,  lord  Basil  ? ' 

1  Can  she  hear  and  speak  ? ' 

'  I  understand  you,'  replied  the  physician.  '  But  it  is  use- 
less. She  has  confessed  to  the  priest,  and  will  utter  no 
word  more.  Look  to  yourself;  the  air  you  breathe  is 
deadly.' 

And  Basil,  weak  as  a  child,  suffered  himself  to  be  led 
away. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

THE  SOUL  OF  ROME 

THE  library  in  Basil's  house  was  a  spacious,  graceful  room, 
offering  at  this  day  very  much  the  same  aspect  as  in  the  time 
of  that  ancestral  Anician,  who,  when  Aurelian  ruled,  first 
laid  rolls  and  codices  upon  its  shelves.  Against  the  walls 
stood  closed  presses  of  wood,  with  bronze  panelling,  on 
which  were  seen  in  relief  the  portraits  of  poets  and  historians ; 
from  the  key  of  each  hung  a  strip  of  parchment,  with  a 
catalogue  of  the  works  within.  Between  the  presses,  on 
pedestals  of  dark  green  serpentine,  ranged  busts  of  the  Greek 
philosophers :  Zeno  with  his  brows  knitted,  Epicurus  bland, 
Aratus  gazing  upward,  Heraclitus  in  tears,  Democritus  laugh- 
ing. These  were  attributed  to  ancient  artists,  and  by  all  who 
still  cared  for  such  things  were  much  admired.  In  the 
middle  stood  a  dancing  faun  in  blood  red  marble,  also 
esteemed  a  precious  work  of  art.  Light  entered  by  an  arched 
window,  once  glazed,  now  only  barred  with  ornamental  iron, 
too  high  in  the  wall  to  allow  of  any  view ;  below  this,  serving 
as  table,  was  an  old  marble  sarcophagus  carved  with  the 
Calydonian  hunt. 

Here,  one  day  of  spring,  Decius  sat  over  his  studies.  Long 
ago  he  had  transferred  hither  all  the  books  from  the  great 
house  across  the  Tiber,  and  had  made  his  home  on  the 
Caelian.  As  he  read  or  wrote  a  hard  cough  frequently  inter- 
rupted him.  During  the  past  half  year  his  health  had  grown 
worse,  and  he  talked  at  times  of  returning  to  the  Surrentine 
villa,  if  perchance  that  sweeter  air  might  soothe  him,  but  in 
the  present  state  of  things — Totila  had  just  laid  siege  to 

148 


THE  SOUL  OF  ROME  149 

Neapolis — the  removal  did  not  seem  feasible.  Moreover, 
Decius  loved  Rome,  and  thought  painfully  of  dying  elsewhere 
than  within  her  walls. 

There  was  a  footfall  at  the  door,  and  Basil  entered.  He 
was  carelessly  clad,  walked  with  head  bent,  and  had  the  look 
of  one  who  spends  his  life  in  wearisome  idleness.  Without 
speaking,  however,  he  threw  himself  upon  a  couch  and  lay 
staring  with  vacant  eye  at  the  bronze  panels  of  the  vaulted 
ceiling.  For  some  minutes  silence  continued ;  then  Decius, 
a  roll  in  his  hand,  stepped  to  his  kinsman's  side  and  indicated 
with  his  finger  a  passage  of  the  manuscript.  What  Basil 
read  might  be  rendered  thus : 

'I  am  hateful  to  myself.  For  though  born  to  do  some- 
thing worthy  of  a  man,  I  am  now  not  only  incapable  of  action, 
but  even  of  thought.' 

'Who  says  that  ?'  he  asked,  too  indolent  to  glance  at  the 
beginning  of  the  roll. 

'  A  certain  Marcus  Tullius,  in  one  of  his  letters,'  replied 
the  other,  smiling,  and  returned  to  his  own  couch. 

Basil  moved  uneasily,  sighed,  and  at  length  spoke  in  a 
serious  tone. 

'  I  understand  you,  best  Decius.  You  are  right.  Many 
a  time  I  have  used  to  myself  almost  those  very  words.  When 
I  was  young — how  old  I  feel ! — I  looked  forward  to  a  life 
full  of  achievements.  I  felt  capable  of  great  things.  But  in 
our  time,  what  can  we  do,  we  who  are  born  Romans,  yet 
have  never  learnt  to  lead  an  army  or  to  govern  a  state  ? ' 

He  let  his  arm  fall  despondently,  and  sank  again  into 
brooding  silence. 

At  root,  Basil's  was  a  healthy  and  vigorous  nature.  Sound 
of  body,  he  needed  to  put  forth  his  physical  energies,  yet 
had  never  found  more  scope  for  them  than  in  the  exercise  of 
the  gymnasium,  or  the  fatigue  of  travel;  mentally  well- 
balanced,  he  would  have  made  an  excellent  administrator, 
such  as  his  line  had  furnished  in  profusion,  but  that  career 
was  no  longer  open.  Of  Marcian's  ascetic  gloom  he  knew 
nothing :  not  all  the  misery  he  had  undergone  in  these  last 


150  VERANILDA 

six  months  could  so  warp  his  wholesome  instincts.  Owning 
himself,  in  the  phrases  he  had  repeated  from  childhood,  a 
miserable  sinner,  a  vile  clot  of  animated  dust,  at  heart  he 
felt  himself  one  with  all  the  beautiful  and  joyous  things  that 
the  sun  illumined.  With  pleasure  and  sympathy  he  looked 
upon  an  ancient  statue  of  god  or  hero ;  only  a  sense  of  duty 
turned  his  eyes  upon  the  images  of  Christian  art. 

And  this  natural  tendency  was  encouraged  by  his  educa- 
tion, which,  like  that  of  all  well-born  Romans,  even  in  the 
sixth  century  after  Christ,  had  savoured  much  more  of 
paganism  than  of  Christianity.  Like  his  ancestors,  before 
the  age  of  Constantine,  he  had  been  taught  grammar  and 
rhetoric;  grammar  which  was  supposed  to  include  all  sciences, 
meaning  practically  a  comment  on  a  few  classical  texts,  and 
rhetoric  presumed  a  preparation  for  the  life  of  the  Forum, 
having  become  an  art  of  declamation  which  had  no  reference 
to  realities.  Attempts  had  been  made — the  last,  only  a  few 
years  ago,  by  Cassiodorus — to  establish  Christian  schools  in 
Rome,  but  without  success,  so  profoundly  were  the  ancient 
intellectual  habits  rooted  in  this  degenerate  people.  The  long 
resistance  to  the  new  religion  was  at  an  end,  but  Romans, 
even  while  confessing  that  the  gods  were  demons,  could  not 
cast  off  their  affection  for  the  mythology  and  history  of  their 
glorious  time.  Thus  Basil  had  spent  his  schooldays  mostly 
in  the  practice  of  sophistic  argument,  and  the  delivery  of 
harangues  on  traditional  subjects.  Other  youths  had  shown 
greater  aptitude  for  this  kind  of  eloquence ;  he  did  not  often 
carry  off  a  prize ;  but  among  his  proud  recollections  was  a 
success  he  had  achieved  in  the  form  of  a  rebuke  to  an 
impious  voluptuary  who  set  up  a  statue  of  Diana  in  the  room 
which  beheld  his  debauches.  Here  was  the  nemesis  of  a 
system  of  education  which  had  aimed  solely  at  the  practical, 
the  useful ;  having  always  laboured  to  produce  the  man  per- 
fectly equipped  for  public  affairs,  and  nothing  else  whatever. 
Rome  found  herself  tottering  with  senile  steps  in  the  same 
path  when  the  Empire  and  the  ancient  world  lay  in  ruins 
about  her.  Basil  was  not  studious.  Long  ago  he  had  for- 


THE   SOUL  OF  ROME  151 

gotten  his  '  grammatical '  learning — except,  of  course,  a  few 
important  matters  known  to  all  educated  men,  such  as  the 
fact  that  the  alphabet  was  invented  by  Mercury,  who  designed 
the  letters  from  figures  made  in  their  flight  by  the  cranes  of 
Strymon.  Though  so  ardent  a  lover,  he  had  composed  no 
lyric  or  elegy  in  Veranilda's  honour;  his  last  poetical  effort 
was  made  in  his  sixteenth  year,  when,  to  his  own  joy,  and  to 
the  admiration  of  his  friends,  he  wrote  a  distich,  the  verses  of 
which  read  the  same  whether  you  began  from  the  left  hand 
or  the  right.  Nowadays  if  he  ever  opened  a  book  it  was  some 
historian  of  antiquity.  Livy,  by  choice,  who  reminded  him 
of  his  country's  greatness,  and  reawakened  in  him  the  desire 
to  live  a  not  inglorious  life. 

Of  his  latter  boyhood  part  had  been  spent  at  Ravenna, 
where  his  father  Probus,  a  friend  as  well  as  kinsman  of  the 
wise  minister  Cassiodorus,  now  and  then  made  a  long  sojourn ; 
and  he  had  thus  become  accustomed  to  the  society  of  the 
more  cultivated  Goths,  especially  of  those  who  were  the 
intimates  of  the  learned  Queen  Amalasuntha.  Here,  too,  he 
learned  a  certain  liberality  in  religious  matters ;  for  it  was 
Cassiodorus  who,  in  one  of  the  rescripts  given  from  the  Gothic 
court,  wrote  those  memorable  words  :  '  Religious  faith  we 
have  no  power  to  impose,  seeing  that  no  man  can  be  made 
to  believe  against  his  will.'  Upon  the  murder  of  Amala- 
suntha, when  the  base  Theodahad  ruled  alone,  and  ruin  lay 
before  the  Gothic  monarchy,  Probus,  despairing  of  Italy, 
following  the  example  of  numerous  Roman  nobles,  migrated 
to  Byzantium.  His  wife  being  dead,  and  his  daughter  having 
entered  a  convent,  he  was  accompanied  only  by  Basil,  then 
eighteen  years  of  age.  A  new  world  thus  opened  before 
Basil's  mind ;  its  brilliancy  at  first  dazzled  and  delighted  him, 
but  very  soon  he  perceived  the  difference  between  a  noble's 
life  at  Rome  or  Ravenna  under  the  mild  rule  of  the  Goths, 
and  that  led  by  so-called  Romans  in  the  fear  of  Justinian 
and  of  Theodora.  His  father,  disappointed  in  hopes  of  pre- 
ferment which  had  been  held  out  to  him,  gladly  accepted  a 
mission  which  would  take  him  back  to  Italy :  he  was  one  of  the 


VERANILDA 

envoys  sent  to  Belisarius  during  the  siege  of  Ravenna,  to 
urge  the  conclusion  of  the  Gothic  war  and  command  the 
return  of  the  Patricius  as  soon  as  might  be  for  service 
against  the  Persians;  and  with  him  came  Basil.  On  the 
journey  Probus  fell  ill ;  he  was  able  to  cross  the  Adriatic, 
but  no  sooner  touched  Italian  soil  than  he  breathed  his  last. 

Then  it  was  that  Basil,  representing  his  father  in  the 
Imperial  mission,  came  face  to  face  with  Belisarius,  and  con- 
ceived a  boundless  enthusiasm  for  the  great  commander, 
whose  personal  qualities — the  large  courtesy,  the  ready  kindli- 
ness, the  frequent  laugh — made  intimate  appeal  to  one  of  his 
disposition.  He  stayed  in  the  camp  before  Ravenna  until 
the  city  surrendered,  and  no  one  listened  with  more  ardent 
approval  to  the  suggestion  which  began  as  a  whisper  between 
Italians  and  Goths  that  Belisarius  should  accept  the  purple  of 
the  Western  Empire.  This,  to  be  sure,  would  have  been 
treachery,  but  treachery  against  Justinian  seemed  a  small 
thing  to  Basil,  and  a  thing  of  no  moment  at  all  when  one 
thought  of  Rome  as  once  more  an  Imperial  city,  and  Italy 
with  such  a  ruler  as  the  laurelled  Patricius.  Treachery  the 
general  did  commit,  but  not  against  Byzantium.  Having 
made  pretence  of  accepting  the  crown  which  the  Goths  offered 
him,  he  entered  into  Ravenna,  took  possession  in  Justinian's 
name,  and  presently  sailed  for  the  East,  carrying  with  him 
the  King  Vitiges  and  his  wife  Matasuntha,  grand-daughter 
of  Theodoric.  It  was  a  bitter  disappointment  to  Basil,  who 
had  imagined  for  himself  a  brilliant  career  under  the  auspices 
of  the  new  Roman  Emperor,  and  who  now  saw  himself 
merely  a  conquered  Italian,  set  under  the  authority  of 
Byzantine  governors.  He  had  no  temptation  to  remain  in 
the  North,  for  Cassiodorus  was  no  longer  here,  having  with- 
drawn a  twelvemonth  ago  to  his  own  country  by  the  Ionian 
Sea,  and  there  entered  the  monastery  founded  by  himself; 
at  Ravenna  ruled  the  logothete  Alexandros,  soon  to  win  a  sur- 
name from  his  cleverness  in  coin-clipping.  So  Basil  jour- 
neyed to  Rome,  where  his  kinsfolk  met  him  with  news  of 
deaths  and  miseries.  The  city  was  but  raising  her  head  after 


THE  SOUL  OF  ROME  153 

the  long  agony  of  the  Gothic  siege.  He  entered  his  silent 
home  on  the  Caelian,  and  began  a  life  of  dispirited  idleness. 

Vast  was  the  change  produced  in  the  Roman's  daily  exist- 
ence by  the  destruction  of  the  aqueducts.  The  Thermae  being 
henceforth  unsupplied  with  water,  those  magnificent  resorts 
of  every  class  of  citizen  lost  their  attraction,  and  soon  ceased 
to  be  frequented ;  for  all  the  Roman's  exercises  and  amuse- 
ments were  associated  with  the  practice  of  luxurious  bathing, 
and  without  that  refreshment  the  gymnasium,  the  tennis-court, 
the  lounge,  no  longer  charmed  as  before.  Rome  became 
dependent  upon  wells  and  the  Tiber,  wretched  resource  com- 
pared with  the  never-failing  and  abundant  streams  which  once 
poured  through  every  region  of  the  city  and  threw  up  foun- 
tains in  all  but  every  street.  Belisarius,  as  soon  as  the  Goths 
retreated,  ordered  the  repairing  of  an  aqueduct,  that  which 
served  the  transtiberine  district,  and  was  indispensable  to  the 
working  of  the  Janiculan  mills,  where  corn  was  ground ;  but, 
after  his  departure,  there  was  neither  enough  energy  nor 
sufficient  sense  of  security  in  Rome  for  the  restoration  of 
even  one  of  the  greater  conduits.  Nobles  and  populace 
alike  lived  without  the  bath,  grew  accustomed  to  more  or 
less  uncleanliness,  and  in  a  certain  quarter  suffered  worse 
than  inconvenience  from  the  lack  of  good  water. 

Formerly  a  young  Roman  of  Basil's  rank,  occupied  or  not 
by  any  serious  pursuit,  would  have  spent  several  hours  of  the 
day  at  one  or  other  of  the  Thermae  still  in  use ;  if  inclined 
to  display,  he  would  have  gone  thither  with  a  train  of  domes- 
tic attendants,  and  probably  of  parasites ;  were  the  season 
hot,  here  he  found  coolness ;  were  it  cold,  here  he  warmed 
himself.  Society  never  failed ;  opportunity  for  clandestine 
meetings  could  always  be  found;  all  the  business  and  the 
pleasure  of  a  day  were  regulated  with  reference  to  this  im- 
memorial habit.  Now,  to  enter  the  Thermae  was  to  hear  one's 
footsteps  resound  in  a  marble  wilderness;  to  have  statues  for 
companions  and  a  sense  of  ruin  for  one's  solace.  Basil,  who 
thought  more  than  the  average  Roman  about  these  changes, 
and  who  could  not  often  amuse  himself  with  such  spectacles  as 


154  VERANILDA 

the  theatres  or  the  circus  offered,  grew  something  of  a  solitary 
in  his  habits,  and  was  supposed  by  those  who  did  not  know 
him  intimately,  to  pass  most  of  his  time  in  religious  medita- 
tion, the  preface,  perhaps,  to  retirement  from  the  world. 
Indolence  bringing  its  wonted  temptations,  he  fell  into 
acquaintance  with  Heliodora,  a  Neapolitan  Greek  of  un- 
certain origin,  whose  husband  that  year  held  the  office  of 
City  Prefect.  Acquaintance  with  Heliodora  was,  in  his  case, 
sure  to  be  a  dangerous  thing,  and  might  well  prove  fatal,  for 
many  and  fierce  were  the  jealousies  excited  by  that  brilliant 
lady,  whose  husband  alone  regarded  with  equanimity  her 
amorous  adventures.  Happily,  Basil  did  not  take  the  matter 
very  much  to  heart ;  he  scarce  pretended  to  himself  that  he 
cared  whether  Heliodora  was  his  for  a  day  only  or  for  a 
month  ;  and  he  had  already  turned  his  thoughts  to  the  sweet- 
ness of  Aemiliana,  that  young  sister  of  Gordian,  whom,  if  he 
chose,  he  might  make  his  wife. 

Now  again  had  sluggishness  taken  possession  of  him,  and 
with  it  came  those  promptings  of  the  flesh  which,  but  a  few 
months  ago,  he  easily  subdued,  but  which  the  lapse  of  time 
had  once  more  made  perilous.  To  any  who  should  have 
ventured  to  taunt  him  with  forgetfulness  of  Veranilda,  he 
would  have  fiercely  given  the  lie ;  and  with  reason,  for 
Veranilda's  image  was  as  vivid  to  him  as  on  the  day  when  he 
lost  her,  and  she  alone  of  women  had  the  power  to  excite  his 
deepest  and  tenderest  emotions.  Nevertheless,  he  had  more 
than  once  of  late  visited  Heliodora,  and  though  these  visits 
were  in  appearance  only  such  as  he  might  have  paid  to  any 
lady  of  his  acquaintance,  Basil  knew  very  well  whither  they 
tended.  As  yet  Heliodora  affected  a  total  forgetfulness  of 
the  past;  she  talked  of  Veranilda,  and  confessed  that  her 
efforts  to  make  any  discovery  regarding  the  captive  were  still 
fruitless,  though  she  by  no  means  gave  up  hope  ;  therewithal, 
she  treated  Basil  only  half  seriously,  with  good-naturedly 
mocking  smiles,  as  a  mere  boy,  a  disdain  to  her  mature 
womanhood.  Of  this  was  he  thinking  as  he  tossed  on  the 
couch  in  the  library ;  he  had  thought  of  it  too  much  since 


THE  SOUL  OF  ROME  155 

leaving  Heliodora  yesterday  afternoon.  It  began  to  nettle 
him  that  his  grief  should  be  for  her  merely  an  amusement. 
Never  having  seen  the  Gothic  maiden,  whose  beauty  outshone 
hers  as  sunrise  outdoes  the  lighting  of  a  candle,  this  wanton 
Greek  was  capable  of  despising  him  in  good  earnest,  and  Basil 
had  never  been  of  those  who  sit  easy  under  scorn.  He  felt 
something  chafe  and  grow  hot  within  him,  and  recalled  the 
days  when  he,  and  not  Heliodora,  had  indulged  contempt — 
to  his  mind  a  much  more  natural  posture  of  affairs.  The 
animal  that  is  in  every  man  had  begun  to  stir;  it  urged  him 
to  master  and  crush  and  tame  this  woman,  whom,  indeed, 
he  held  rather  in  hate  than  in  any  semblance  of  love.  Her 
beauty,  her  sensuality,  had  power  over  him  still ;  he  resented 
such  danger  of  subjection,  and  encouraged  himself  in  a  bar- 
barism of  mood,  which  permitted  him  to  think  that  even 
in  yielding  he  might  find  the  way  of  his  revenge. 

There  had  been  a  long  silence  since  his  reply  to  the  hint 
offered  by  Decius.  The  student  spoke  again. 

'Basil,  leave  Rome.' 

'It  is  forbidden,'  answered  the  other  dully,  his  face 
averted. 

1  Many  things  are  forbidden  which  none  the  less  are  done. 
Did  you  learn  that  Veranilda  awaited  you  at  Asculum,  how 
long  would  it  be  before  you  set  forth  ?  ' 

'Not  one  hour,  good  Decius.' 

'Even  so.  You  would  pass  the  gates  disguised  as  a 
peasant  or  as  a  woman — no  matter  how.  Will  you  do  less 
to  save  all  that  makes  life  dear  to  an  honourable  man  ? 
Be  gone,  be  gone,  I  entreat  you.' 

'Whither?' 

1  To  Picenum,  which  is  not  yet  subject  to  the  Goths.  There 
gather  your  capable  men  and  arm  them,  and  send  to  the 
King  Totila,  offering  to  serve  him  where  he  will,  and  how  he 
will.  You  know,'  pursued  Decius  earnestly,  'that  I  speak 
this  something  against  my  conscience,  but,  alas !  we  can 
only  choose  between  evils,  and  I  think  Totila  is  less  of  A 
tyrant  than  Justinian.  You  will  not  go  to  Constantinople, 


156  VERANILDA 

nor  would  I  bid  you,  for  there,  assuredly,  is  nothing  to  be 
done  worthy  of  a  man;  but  you  must  act,  or  you  perish. 
For  me,  a  weakling  and  a  dreamer,  there  is  solace  in  the 
vita  umbratilis ;  to  you,  it  is  naught.  Arise,  then,  O  Basil, 
ere  it  be  too  late.' 

The  listener  rose  from  his  recumbent  attitude;  he  was 
stirred  by  this  unwonted  vigour  in  Decius,  but  not  yet  did 
resolve  appear  on  his  countenance. 

'Did  I  but  know,'  he  murmured,  'that  Veranilda  is  not  in 
Rome ! ' 

Innumerable  times  had  he  said  it ;  the  thought  alone  held 
him  inert.  Impossible  to  discover,  spite  of  all  his  efforts, 
whether  Veranilda  had  been  delivered  to  the  Greeks,  or  still 
lay  captive  in  some  place  known  to  the  deacon  Leander. 
From  the  behaviour  of  Bessas  nothing  could  be  certainly 
deduced  :  it  was  now  a  long  time  since  he  had  sent  for  Basil, 
and  Marcian,  though  believing  that  the  commander's  search 
was  still  futile,  had  no  more  certainty  than  his  friend.  Soon 
after  Petronilla's  death,  the  Anician  mansion  had  been 
thoroughly  pillaged  and  everything  of  value  removed  to  the 
Palatine.  Bessas  condescended  to  justify  this  proceeding: 
having  learnt,  he  said,  that  the  question  of  Aurelia's  orthodoxy 
lay  in  doubt,  some  declaring  that  she  was  a  heretic,  some 
that  she  had  returned  to  orthodoxy  before  her  father's  death, 
he  took  charge  of  the  property  which  might  be  hers  until 
she  appeared  to  claim  it,  when,  having  the  testament  of 
Maximus  in  his  hand,  he  would  see  that  justice  was  done. 
With  Leander,  Basil  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  an  inter- 
view, which  was  altogether  fruitless.  The  deacon  would 
answer  no  question,  and  contented  himself  with  warning  his 
visitor  of  the  dangers  incurred  by  one  who  openly  sought  to 
defeat  the  will  of  the  Emperor. 

'  Is  it  farewell  ? '  asked  Decius,  stepping  towards  his  kins- 
man, who  seemed  about  to  leave  the  room. 

'  I  will  think.' 

'  Go  speak  with  Gordian.  He  says  that  he  can  obtain  you 
permission  to  leave  the  city.' 


THE  SOUL  OF  ROME  157 

*I  doubt  it,'  replied  Basil.  'But  I  will  see  him — ere 
long.' 

Decius  went  forth  for  his  morning's  exercise,  which  some- 
times took  the  form  of  a  gentle  game  of  ball,  but  was  generally 
a  ramble  on  foot  and  unaccompanied,  for  he  never  felt  at 
ease  when  an  attendant  followed  him.  His  habits  were 
solitary ;  ever  absorbed  in  thought,  or  lost  in  dreams,  he 
avoided  the  ways  where  he  would  be  likely  to  encounter  an 
acquaintance,  and  strayed  among  ruins  in  deserted  gardens, 
such  as  were  easily  found  in  the  remoter  parts  of  the  Caelian. 
To-day,  tempted  on  by  the  delicious  air,  and  the  bright  but 
not  ardent  sunshine,  he  wandered  by  such  unfrequented  paths 
till  a  sound  of  voices  broke  upon  his  meditation,  and  he 
found  himself  in  view  of  the  Lateran.  Numbers  of  poor 
people  were  streaming  away  from  the  open  space  by  the 
Pope's  palace,  loud  in  angry  talk,  its  purpose  intelligible 
enough  to  any  one  who  caught  a  few  words.  Decius  heard 
maledictions  upon  the  Holy  Father,  mingled  with  curses  no 
less  hearty  upon  the  Greeks  who  held  Rome. 

1  It  was  not  thus,'  cried  an  old  man,  '  in  the  time  of  King 
Theodoric,  heretic  though  he  might  be.  We  had  our  bread 
and  our  hog's  flesh,  prime  quality  both,  and  plenty  for  all.' 

'Ay,'  cried  a  woman,  'and  our  oil  too.  Since  these  Greek 
dogs  came,  not  a  drop  of  oil  has  there  been  in  my  cruse. 
Heretics,  forsooth  !  What  better  is  the  Holy  Father  who  lets 
Christians  die  of  hunger  while  he  eats  and  drinks  his  fill  ? ' 

'  Evil  go  with  thee,  O  Vigilius  !  The  pest  seize  thee,  O 
Vigilius  !  May'st  thou  perish  eternally,  O  Vigilius ! '  shrilled 
and  shouted  all  manner  of  voices,  while  fists  were  shaken 
towards  the  pontifical  abode. 

Decius  hastened  away.  The  sight  of  suffering  was  painful 
to  him,  and  the  cries  of  the  vulgar  offended  his  ear ;  he  felt 
indignant  that  these  people  should  not  be  fed,  as  Rome  for 
so  many  ages  had  fed  her  multitude,  but  above  all,  he 
dreaded  uproar,  confusion,  violence.  His  hurried  pace  did 
not  relax  until  he  was  lost  again  amid  a  wilderness  of  ruins, 
where  browsing  goats  and  darting  lizards  were  the  only  life. 


158  VERANILDA 

Later  in  tne  day,  when  he  sat  alone  in  the  peristyle,  a 
visitor  was  introduced,  whom  he  rose  to  welcome  cordially 
and  respectfully.  This  was  a  man  of  some  threescore  years, 
vigorous  in  frame,  with  dry,  wrinkled  visage  and  a  thin,  grey 
beard  that  fell  to  his  girdle.  As  he  approached,  Decius  saw 
that  he  was  bleeding  from  a  wound  on  the  head  and  that  his 
cloak  was  torn. 

'What  means  this,  dear  master?'  he  exclaimed.  'What 
has  befallen  you  ? ' 

'Nothing  worth  your  notice,  gentle  Decius, 'the  philosopher 
replied,  calmly  and  gravely.  '  Let  us  rather  examine  this 
rare  treatise  of  Plotinus,  which  by  good  fortune  I  yesterday 
discovered  among  rubbish  thrown  aside.' 

'  Nay,'  insisted  Decius,  '  but  your  wound  must  be  washed 
and  dressed ;  it  may  else  prove  dangerous.  I  fear  this  was 
no  accident  ? ' 

'  If  you  must  know,'  answered  the  other  with  good-natured 
peevishness,  '  I  am  accused  of  magic.  The  honest  folk  who 
are  my  neighbours,  prompted,  I  think  it  likely,  by  a  certain 
senator  who  takes  it  ill  that  his  son  is  my  disciple,  have 
shown  me  of  late  more  attention  than  I  care  for,  and  to-day 
as  I  came  forth,  they  pursued  me  with  cries  of  "  Sorcerer ! " 
and  the  like,  whereupon  followed  sticks  and  stones,  and 
other  such  popular  arguments.  It  is  no  matter.  Plotinus 
begins ' 

Simplicius  was  one  of  the  last  philosophers  who  taught  in 
Athens,  one  of  the  seven  who  were  driven  forth  when 
Justinian,  in  his  zeal  for  Christianity,  closed  the  schools. 
Guided  by  a  rumour  that  supreme  wisdom  was  to  be  found 
in  Persia,  the  sages  journeyed  to  that  kingdom,  where 
disappointment  awaited  them.  After  long  wanderings  and 
many  hardships,  Simplicius  came  to  Rome,  and  now  had 
sojourned  here  for  a  year  or  two,  teaching  such  few  as  in 
these  days  gave  any  thought  to  philosophy.  Poor,  and 
perhaps  unduly  proud,  he  preferred  his  own  very  humble 
lodging  to  the  hospitality  which  more  than  one  friend  had 
offered  him ;  and  his  open  disregard  for  religious  practices, 


THE  SOUL  OF  ROME  159 

together  with  singularities  of  life  and  demeanour,  sufficiently 
explained  the  trouble  that  had  come  upon  him.  Charges  of 
sorcery  were  not  uncommon  in  Rome  at  this  time.  Some 
few  years  ago  a  commission  of  senators  had  sat  in  judgment 
upon  two  nobles  accused  of  magic,  a  leading  article  of  proof 
against  one  of  them  being  that  he  had  a  horse  which,  when 
stroked,  gave  off  sparks  of  fire.  On  this  account  Decius  was 
much  troubled  by  the  philosopher's  story.  When  the  wound 
had  been  attended  to,  he  besought  Simplicius  not  to  go  forth 
again  to-day,  and  with  some  difficulty  prevailed. 

'Why  should  it  perturb  you,  O  most  excellent  Decius,' 
said  the  sage,  '  that  a  lover  of  wisdom  is  an  offence  to  the 
untaught  and  the  foolish  ?  Was  it  not  ever  thus  ?  If  philo- 
sophy may  no  longer  find  peace  at  Athens,  is  it  likely  that 
she  will  be  suffered  to  dwell  at  ease  in  Rome  ? ' 

'  Alas,  no ! '  admitted  Decius.  '  But  why,  dear  master, 
should  you  invite  the  attacks  of  the  ignorant  ? ' 

'  I  do  no  such  thing.  I  live  and  act  as  seems  good  to  me, 
that  is  all.  Should  no  one  have  the  courage  to  do  that, 
what  hope  would  there  be,  O  Decius,  for  that  most  glorious 
liberty,  the  liberty  of  the  mind  ? ' 

The  listener  bent  his  head  abashed.  Then  Simplicius 
began  to  read  from  the  manuscript,  and  Decius,  who  knew 
Greek  fairly  well — he  had  lately  completed  certain  trans- 
lations from  Plato,  left  unfinished  by  Boethius  —  gave 
reverent  attention.  At  a  certain  point  the  philosopher 
paused  to  comment,  for  the  subject  was  difficult — nothing 
less  than  the  nature  of  God.  In  God,  according  to  the 
system  here  expounded,  there  are  three  principles  or  hypo- 
stases,  united  but  unequal — the  One,  the  Intelligence,  the 
Soul ;  which  correspond,  respectively,  to  the  God  of  Plato, 
the  God  of  Aristotle,  the  God  of  Zeno.  Usually  curt  and 
rather  dry  in  his  utterances,  Simplicius  rose  to  a  fervid 
eloquence  as  he  expounded  this  mysticism  of  Alexandria. 
Not  that  he  accepted  it  as  the  final  truth,  it  was  merely  a 
step,  though  an  important  one,  towards  that  entire  and 
absolute  knowledge  of  which  he  believed  that  a  glimpse  had 


160  VERANILDA 

been  vouchsafed  to  him,  even  to  him,  in  his  more  sublime 
hours.  As  for  Decius,  the  utmost  effort  never  enabled  him 
to  attain  familiarity  with  these  profound  speculations:  he 
was  soon  lost,  and  found  his  brain  whirling  with  words  that 
had  little  or  no  significance.  At  home  in  literature,  in  philo- 
sophy he  did  but  strive  and  falter  and  lose  himself.  When 
at  length  there  came  a  silence,  he  sighed  deeply,  his  hand 
propping  his  forehead. 

1  Master,  how  few  men  can  ever  know  God ! ' 

'  Few,  few,'  admitted  the  philosopher,  his  gaze  upwards. 

'  I  think  I  should  be  content,'  said  Decius,  { to  love  and 
praise  Him.  Yet  that  meseems  is  no  less  hard.' 

'  No  less,'  was  the  reply.  '  For,  without  knowledge,  love 
and  praise  are  vain.' 

But  Decius'  thought  had  another  meaning. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

SILVIA'S   DREAM 

IT  was  the  Paschal  season,  and  Basil,  careless  at  most  times  of 
religious  observances,  did  not  neglect  this  supreme  solemnity 
of  his  faith.  On  Passion  Day  he  fasted  and  received  the 
Eucharist,  Decius  doing  the  like,  though  with  a  half-smiling 
dreaminess  which  contrasted  with  the  other's  troubled 
devotion.  Since  the  death  of  Petronilla,  Basil  had  known 
moments  of  awe-stricken  wonder  or  of  gloomy  fear  such  as  never 
before  had  visited  him ;  for  he  entertained  no  doubt  that  his 
imprecation  had  brought  upon  Petronilla  her  dreadful  doom, 
and  this  was  a  thought  which  had  power  to  break  his  rest. 
Neither  to  Marcian  nor  to  Decius  did  he  speak  of  it  in  plain 
terms,  merely  hinting  his  belief  that  the  cruel  and  treacherous 
woman  had  provoked  divine  anger. 

But  the  inclination  to  piety  which  resulted  from  such 
brooding  was  in  some  measure  counteracted  by  his  hostile 
feeling  towards  all  the  Church.  Petronilla  might  have  con- 
ceived the  thought  of  imprisoning  Aurelia  and  Veranilda,  but 
only  with  the  aid  of  an  influential  cleric  such  as  Leander 
could  she  have  carried  it  out  so  successfully.  The  Church  it 
was  that  held  Veranilda  captive ;  unless,  indeed,  it  had  handed 
her  over  to  the  Greeks.  This  conviction  made  his  heart 
burn  with  wrath,  which  he  could  scarce  subdue  even  whilst 
worshipping  the  crucified  Christ.  His  victim's  heresy  would 
of  course  be  Leander's  excuse  for  what  he  had  done;  the 
daughter  of  Maximus  and  the  Gothic  maiden  were  held  in 
restraint  for  their  souls'  good.  Not  long  after  Petronilla's 
death  Basil  had  been  driven  by  his  distress  of  mind  to  visit 

L 


1 62  VERANILDA 

Gordian  and  Silvia,  and  to  speak  with  them  of  this  suspicion. 
He  saw  that,  for  all  their  human  kindness,  they  were  dis- 
posed rather  to  approve  than  condemn  the  deacon's  supposed 
action,  and  he  had  gone  forth  from  them  in  scarce  concealed 
bitterness. 

Now,  in  the  festival  days  of  Easter,  his  thoughts  again 
turned  to  that  house  on  the  Clivus  Scauri,  so  near  to  his 
own  dwelling,  yet  so  remote  from  the  world  of  turbid  passions 
in  which  his  lot  was  cast.  The  household  of  Gordian  seemed 
untouched  by  common  cares ;  though  thoroughly  human  its 
domestic  life,  it  had  something  of  the  calm,  the  silence,  of 
a  monastery.  None  entered  save  those  whom  husband  and 
wife  held  in  affection  or  in  respect ;  idle  gaiety  was  unknown 
beneath  their  roof,  and  worldly  ambition  had  no  part  in  their 
counsels.  Because  of  the  reverence  these  things  inspired  in 
him,  and  because  of  his  longing  to  speak  with  a  pure-hearted 
woman  who  held  him  in  kindness,  Basil  again  presented 
himself  at  his  kinsman's  door.  He  was  led  directly  to  an 
inner  room,  where  sat  Silvia. 

The  severe  fasts  of  Lent  had  left  their  mark  upon  the 
young  face,  yet  it  was  fresh  and  smooth  in  its  delicate  pallor, 
and  almost  maidenly  in  its  gentle  smile.  Silvia  had  blue 
eyes,  and  hair  of  the  chestnut  hue ;  a  simple,  white  fillet  lay 
above  her  forehead;  her  robe  was  of  pale  russet,  adorned 
with  the  usual  purple  stripes  and  edged  with  embroidery ;  on 
each  hand  she  wore  but  one  ring.  When  the  visitor  entered, 
she  was  nursing  her  child,  a  boy  of  four  years  old,  named 
Gregorius,  but  at  once  she  put  him  to  sit  upon  a  little  stool 
beside  her. 

'Welcome,  dear  cousin  Basil,'  was  her  greeting.  'We 
hoped  this  time  of  gladness  would  turn  your  thoughts  to  us. 
My  husband  has  been  called  forth;  but  you  will  await  his 
return  ? ' 

'It  was  you,  lady  cousin,  whom  I  wished  to  see,'  Basil 
replied.  As  he  spoke,  he  touched  the  curly  head  of  the  boy, 
who  looked  up  at  him  with  large,  grave  eyes.  'Why  is  he 
so  pale  ? ' 


SILVIA'S  DREAM  163 

'  He  has  had  a  sickness,'  answered  the  mother,  In  a  low, 
tender  voice.  '  Not  many  days  ago,  one  might  have  feared 
he  would  be  taken  from  us.  Our  prayers  prevailed,  thanks 
to  the  intercession  of  the  holy  Cosma  and  Damian,  and  of 
the  blessed  Theodore.  When  he  seemed  to  be  dying,  I  bore 
him  to  the  church  in  the  Velabrum,  and  laid  him  before  the 
altar ;  and  scarcely  had  I  finished  my  prayer,  when  a  light 
seemed  to  shine  upon  his  face,  and  he  knew  me  again,  and 
smiled  at  me.' 

Listening,  the  child  took  his  mother's  hand,  and  pressed  it 
against  his  wan  little  cheek.  Then  Silvia  rang  a  bell  that  was 
beside  her,  and  a  woman  came  to  take  the  child  away,  he,  as 
he  walked  in  silence  from  the  room,  looking  back  and  smiling 
wistfully. 

'  I  know  not,'  pursued  Silvia,  when  they  were  alone, '  how  we 
dare  to  pray  for  any  young  life  in  times  so  dark  as  ours.  But 
that  we  are  selfish  in  our  human  love,  we  should  rather  thank 
the  Omnipotent  when  it  pleases  Him  to  call  one  of  these 
little  ones,  whom  Christ  blessed,  from  a  world  against  which 
His  wrath  is  so  manifestly  kindled.  And  yet,'  she  added,  'it 
must  be  right  that  we  should  entreat  for  a  life  in  danger ;  who 
can  know  to  what  it  may  be  destined  ? — what  service  it  may 
render  to  God  and  man?  One  night  when  I  watched  by 
Gregorius,  weariness  overcame  me,  and  in  a  short  slumber 
I  dreamt.  That  dream  I  shall  never  forget.  It  kept  me  in 
heart  and  hope  through  the  worst.' 

'  May  I  hear  your  dream  ? '  asked  Basil. 

1  Nay,'  was  the  gentle  reply,  with  a  smile  and  a  shake  of  the 
head,  'to  you  it  would  seem  but  foolishness.  Let  us  speak  of 
other  things,  and  first  of  yourself.  You,  too,  are  pale,  good 
cousin.  What  have  you  to  tell  me?  What  has  come  to 
pass  since  I  saw  you  ? ' 

With  difficulty  Basil  found  words  to  utter  the  thought 
which  had  led  him  hither.  He  came  to  it  by  a  roundabout 
way,  and  Silvia  presently  understood :  he  was  indirectly 
begging  her  to  use  her  influence  with  eminent  churchmen  at 
Rome,  to  discover  whether  Veranilda  was  yet  detained  in 


164  VERANILDA 

Italy,  or  had  been  sent  to  the  East.  At  their  previous  inter- 
view he  had  kept  up  the  pretence  of  being  chiefly  interested  in 
the  fate  of  Aurelia,  barely  mentioning  the  Gothic  maiden ; 
but  that  was  in  the  presence  of  Gordian.  Now  he  spoke  not 
of  Aurelia  at  all,  and  so  dwelt  on  Veranilda's  name  that  his 
implied  confession  could  not  be  misunderstood.  And  Silvia 
listened  with  head  bent,  interested,  secretly  moved,  at  heart 
troubled. 

'What  you  ask,'  she  began,  after  a  short  silence,  'is  not 
easy.  If  I  make  inquiries  of  such  of  the  clergy  as  I  know, 
I  must  needs  tell  them  why  I  am  doing  so ;  and  would  they, 
in  that  case,  think  it  well  to  answer  me  ? ' 

'You  know  the  deacon  Leander,'  urged  Basil.  'Can  you 
not  plead  for  me  with  him,  O  Silvia  ? ' 

'  Plead  for  you  ?  Remember  that  it  is  impossible  for  me 
to  assume  that  the  holy  deacon  knows  anything  of  this  matter. 
And,  were  that  difficulty  removed,  dare  I  plead  for  your 
union  with  one  who  is  not  of  our  faith — one,  moreover, 
whom  you  cannot  wed  without  putting  yourself  in  grave 
peril?' 

'  Listen,  gentle  cousin  ! '  exclaimed  Basil  eagerly.  '  It  may 
be  that  Veranilda  has  already  renounced  the  heresy  of  Arius. 
If  not,  she  would  assuredly  do  so  at  my  persuasion.  So,  that 
objection  you  may  dismiss.  As  for  the  danger  to  which  our 
marriage  might  expose  us,  our  love  would  dare  that — ay,  and 
things  much  worse,' 

'You  speak  so  confidently  of  the  Gothic  maiden?'  said 
Silvia,  with  a  look  half-timid,  half-amused.  '  Was  there,  then, 
a  veritable  plighting  of  troth  between  you  ? ' 

'  There  was,  dear  cousin.  From  you  I  will  conceal  nothing, 
for  you  are  good,  you  are  compassionate.' 

And  whilst  he  poured  forth  the  story  of  his  love,  not 
without  tears,  Silvia  gave  sympathetic  attention.  The  lady 
Petronilla  had  never  been  one  of  her  intimates,  nor  was  the 
deacon  Leander  among  those  ecclesiastics  whom  she  most 
reverenced.  When  Basil  had  told  all,  her  reply  was  ready. 
All  she  could  do  would  be  to  endeavour  to  learn  whether 


SILVIA'S   DREAM  165 

Veranilda  remained  in  the  charge  of  Petronilla's  confederate, 
or  had  been  given  up  to  the  Greeks.  From  conversation 
she  had  heard,  Silvia  inclined  to  this  belief,  that  Bessas  and 
his  subordinates  were  still  vainly  seeking. 

'  I  can  make  you  no  promise,  good  Basil ;  but  I  will  take 
counsel  with  my  husband  (whom  you  can  trust  as  you  trust 
me),  and  see  if  indeed  anything  may  be  learnt.' 

The  lover  kissed  her  hands  in  ardent  gratitude.  Whilst 
they  were  still  talking  confidentially,  another  visitor  was 
announced,  the  deacon  Pelagius.  Basil  begged  permission 
to  withdraw  before  the  cleric  entered;  he  was  in  no  mood 
for  conversation  with  deacons ;  and  Silvia  pointed  smilingly 
to  the  door  by  which  he  could  retreat. 

The  hour  was  still  early.  Basil  passed  a  day  of  hopeful- 
ness, and  his  mood  became  exultant  when,  about  sunset, 
a  letter  was  brought  to  him  from  Silvia. 

'To-morrow  morning,  at  the  third  hour,'  she  wrote,  'certain 
of  our  kinsfolk  and  friends  will  assemble  in  this  house  to  hear 
the  reverend  man  Arator  read  his  poem  on  the  Acts  of  the 
Holy  Apostles.  This  is  an  honour  done  to  us,  for  only 
two  or  three  persons  have  as  yet  heard  portions  of  the 
poem,  which  will  soon  be  read  publicly  in  the  church  of  the 
Holy  Petrus  ad  Vincula.  Let  me  welcome  your  Amiability 
among  my  guests.  After  the  reading,  I  shall  beg  you  to  be 
acquainted  with  one  who  may  perchance  serve  you.' 

Scarcely  had  Basil  read  this,  when  another  missive  was 
put  into  his  hands.  It  was  from  Heliodora,  and  written,  as 
usual,  in  Greek  characters. 

'To-morrow,  after  the  ninth  hour,  you  are  bidden  hither. 
Come  if  you  choose.  If  you  do  not,  I  shall  have  forgotten 
something  I  have  learnt.' 

To  this  he  paid  little  heed;  it  might  have  significance,  it 
might  have  none.  If  the  morning  sustained  his  hope,  he 
would  be  able  to  resist  the  temptation  of  the  afternoon. 
So  he  cherished  Silvia's  letter,  and  flung  Heliodora's  con- 
temptuously aside. 

Reaching  Gordian's  house  next  morning  a  little  before  the 


166  VERANILDA 

appointed  hour,  he  found  the  members  of  the  family  and  one 
or  two  guests  assembled  in  a  circular  room,  with  a  dome 
pierced  to  admit  light :  marble  seats,  covered  with  cushions, 
rose  amphitheatre-wise  on  one  half  of  the  circle,  and  opposite 
was  a  chair  for  the  reader.  In  this  hall  Sidonius  Apollinaris 
had  declaimed  his  panegyric  on  the  Emperor  Avitus;  here 
the  noble  Boethius  had  been  heard,  and,  in  earlier  days,  the 
poet  Claudian.  Beside  Silvia  stood  her  husband's  two  sisters, 
Tarsilla  and  Aemiliana,  both  of  whom,  it  had  begun  to  be 
rumoured,  though  still  in  the  flower  of  their  youth,  desired  to 
enter  the  monastic  life.  At  the  younger,  who  was  beautiful, 
Basil  glanced  diffidently,  remembering  that  she  might  have 
been  his  wife ;  but  Aemiliana  knew  nothing  of  the  thought 
her  brother  had  entertained,  and  her  eyes  were  calm  as 
those  of  a  little  child.  When  other  guests  appeared,  Basil 
drew  aside,  for  most  of  the  persons  who  entered  were  strangers 
to  him.  Ecclesiastics  grew  numerous ;  among  them  might  be 
distinguished  a  tall,  meagre,  bald-headed  man,  the  sub-deacon 
Arator,  who  held  in  his  hand  the  manuscript  from  which  he 
was  to  read.  Among  the  latest  to  arrive  was  a  lady,  stricken 
in  years  and  bowed  with  much  grief,  upon  whom  all  eyes 
were  respectfully  bent  as  Gordian  conducted  her  to  a  place  of 
honour.  This  was  Rusticiana,  the  daughter  of  Symmachus, 
the  widow  of  Boethius.  When  Basil  looked  at  her,  and 
thought  of  the  anguish  through  which  her  life  had  passed  in 
that  gloomy  evening  of  the  reign  of  Theodoric,  he  felt  himself 
for  a  moment  at  one  with  those  who  rejected  and  scorned 
the  Gothic  dominion.  A  great  unhappiness  flooded  his 
heart  and  mind ;  he  forgot  what  was  passing  about  him,  and 
only  returned  to  himself  when  there  sounded  the  voice  of 
the  reader. 

Arator's  poetic  version  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  was 
written  in  hexameters ;  whether  good  or  ill,  Basil  felt  unable 
to  decide,  and  he  wished  Decius  had  been  here  to  whisper 
a  critical  comment.  In  any  case  he  would  have  found  the 
reading  wearisome;  that  monotonous,  indistinct  voice  soon 
irritated  him,  and  at  length  made  him  drowsy.  But  admira- 


SILVIA'S   DREAM  167 

tion  frequently  broke  out  from  the  audience,  and  at  the  end 
applause  became  enthusiasm.  Unspeakably  glad  that  the 
ceremony  was  over,  Basil  mingled  with  the  moving  crowd, 
and  drew  towards  Silvia.  At  length  their  eyes  met ;  the  lady 
thereupon  spoke  a  word  to  a  cleric  who  was  standing  by  her, 
and  in  the  next  moment  summoned  Basil  with  a  movement 
of  the  head.  There  was  a  brief  formality,  then  Basil  found 
himself  led  aside  by  the  deacon  Pelagius,  who  spoke  to  him 
in  a  grave,  kind  voice  very  pleasant  to  the  ear,  with  the 
courtesy  of  a  finished  man  of  the  world,  and  at  the  same 
time  with  a  firmness  of  note,  a  directness  of  purpose,  which  did 
not  fail  to  impress  the  listener. 

Aged  about  five-and-thirty,  bearing  upon  his  countenance 
the  signature  of  noble  birth,  Pelagius  was  at  this  moment 
the  most  accomplished  diplomat  that  the  Church  of  Rome 
possessed.  He  had  spent  some  years  at  Byzantium,  as 
papal  emissary ;  had  engaged  the  confidence  of  Justinian ; 
and,  on  his  return,  had  brought  an  Imperial  invitation  to 
Vigilius,  who  was  requested  to  set  forth  for  the  East  as  soon 
as  possible.  Pope  Vigilius  had  the  misfortune  to  differ  on 
certain  dogmatic  questions  with  that  pious  and  acute  theo- 
logian, the  Empress  Theodora  ;  being  a  man  of  little  energy 
or  courage,  he  durst  not  defy  Byzantium,  as  he  gladly  would 
have  done,  nor  yet  knew  how  to  deal  subtly  for  his  own  ends 
with  the  Eastern  despots ;  he  lingered  his  departure,  and  in 
the  meantime  earned  hatred  at  Rome  because  of  his  inability 
to  feed  the  populace.  It  was  already  decided  that,  during 
his  absence,  the  Holy  Father  should  be  represented  by  Pela- 
gius ;  an  arrangement  very  agreeable  to  that  party  in  the 
Church  which  upheld  Imperial  supremacy,  but  less  so  to  those 
ecclesiastics — a  majority — who  desired  the  independence  of 
Rome  in  religious  matters,  and  the  recognition  of  Peter's 
successor  as  Patriarch  of  Christendom.  In  speaking  to  such 
a  personage  as  this  on  Basil's  behalf,  Silvia  had  not  reflected 
that  the  friend  of  Justinian  was  little  likely  to  take  the  part 
of  one  who  desired  to  frustrate  an  Imperial  command  ;  she 
thought  only  of  his  great  influence,  and  of  the  fact  that  he 


1 68  VERANILDA 

looked  with  no  favour  on  the  deacon  Leander,  an  anti- 
imperialist.  What  was  again  unfortunate  for  Basil,  Pelagius 
had  heard,  before  leaving  Byzantium,  of  the  Emperor's  wish 
to  discover  Veranilda,  and  had  already  made  inquiries  on 
this  subject  in  Rome.  He  was  glad,  then,  to  speak  with  this 
young  noble,  whose  mind  he  found  it  very  easy  to  read,  and 
whom,  without  the  least  harshness,  he  resolved  to  deter  from 
his  pursuit  of  a  Gothic  bride. 

The  colloquy  was  not  long.  Buoyed  by  his  ardour,  Basil 
interpreted  the  first  words  of  courteous  preamble  in  the  most 
hopeful  sense.  What  followed  gave  him  pause;  he  saw  a 
shadow  of  obstacle  arise.  Another  moment,  and  the  obstacle 
had  become  very  real ;  it  grew  to  vastness,  to  insuperability. 
He  stood,  as  it  were,  looking  into  the  very  eyes  of  the  Serene 
Majesty  of  Byzantium.  Not  that  the  speaker  used  a  tone 
of  peremptory  discouragement.  Granting  the  indispensable 
condition  that  Veranilda  became  a  Catholic,  it  was  not  an  im- 
possible thing,  said  Pelagius,  that  Basil  should  obtain  her  as 
a  wife ;  but  it  could  only  be  by  the  grace  of  the  Emperor. 
Veranilda  had  been  summoned  to  Byzantium.  If  Basil 
chose  to  follow  her  thither,  and  sue  for  her  before  the 
throne,  why,  this  was  open  to  him,  as  to  any  other  Roman 
of  noble  birth.  It  would  have  been  idle  indeed  to  seek  to 
learn  from  Pelagius  whether  Veranilda  had  already  left  Italy ; 
his  tone  was  that  of  omniscience,  but  his  brow  altogether 
forbade  interrogation.  Basil,  in  despair,  ventured  one  in- 
quiry. If  he  desired  to  go  to  Byzantium,  could  he  obtain 
leave  of  departure  from  the  Greek  commandant,  under  whose 
ban  he  lay?  The  reply  was  unhesitating;  at  any  moment, 
permission  could  be  granted.  Therewith  the  conversation 
came  to  an  end,  and  Basil,  hating  the  face  of  man,  stole 
away  into  solitude. 

Entering  his  own  house,  he  learnt  that  Marcian  was  within. 
For  a  month  they  had  not  seen  each  other,  Marcian  having 
been  absent  on  missions  of  the  wonted  double  tenor ;  they 
met  affectionately  as  ever,  then  Basil  flung  himself  down, 
like  one  crushed  by  sudden  calamity. 


SILVIA'S   DREAM  169 

'What  now? '  asked  his  friend,  with  a  rallying  rather  than 
a  sympathetic  air. 

'  No  matter,'  Basil  replied.  'You  are  weary  of  my  troubles, 
and  I  can  no  longer  talk  of  them.' 

'What  troubles?  The  old  story  still?  I  thought  you 
had  found  solace  ? ' 

Basil  looked  an  indignant  wonder.  His  friend,  sitting  on 
the  couch  beside  him,  continued  in  the  same  half-bantering 
tone : 

'  When  were  you  last  at  the  house  of  a  certain  disconsolate 
widow,  on  the  Quirinal?' 

'  What  mean  you  ? '  cried  the  other,  starting  up,  with 
sudden  fury  in  his  eyes.  '  Are  you  vowed  with  my  enemies 
to  drive  me  mad?' 

'Not  I,  dear  Basil;  but  hear  the  truth.  Only  late  last 
night  I  entered  the  gates  of  Rome,  and  since  I  rose  this 
morning  three  several  persons  have  spoken  your  name  to  me 
together  with  that  of  Heliodora.' 

'They  are  black  and  villainous  liars  !  And  you,  Marcian, 
so  ready  to  believe  them?  Tell  me  their  names,  their 
names ! ' 

'  Peace !  One  would  think  you  mad  indeed.  You  know 
the  son  of  Opilio,  young  Vivian  ? ' 

'  I  know  him  ! '  answered  Basil  scornfully,  'as  I  know  the 
lousy  beggar  who  sits  before  St.  Clement's  Church,  or  the 
African  who  tumbles  in  Trajan's  forum.' 

'  Even  so.  This  same  spark  of  fashion  stops  me  in  the 
Vicus  Longus.  "You  are  the  friend  of  Basil,"  quoth  he. 
"  Give  him  this  warning.  If  ever  I  chance  to  find  him  near 
the  portico  of  Heliodora,  I  will  drive  my  dagger  into  his 
heart,"  and  on  he  struts,  leaving  me  so  amazed  that  I  forgot 
even  to  fetch  the  cub  a  box  o'  the  ear.  But  I  had  not  long 
to  wait  for  an  explanation  of  his  insolence.  Whom  should  I 
next  meet  but  the  solemn-visaged  Opilio.  "  So  your  friend 
Basil,"  he  began,  "has  forgotten  his  Gothic  love?"  We 
talked,  and  I  learnt  from  him  that  you  were  the  hot  rival  of 
Vivian  for  Heliodora's  favour.  Nay,  I  do  but  repeat  what 


170  VERANILDA 

you  ought  to  hear.  Can  such  gossip  begin  without  cause  ? 
Tell  me  now,  how  often  have  you  been  yonder  since  I  left 
Rome?1 

Basil  could  scarce  contain  himself.  He  had  visited  Helio- 
dora,  yes,  but  merely  because  he  would  neglect  no  chance  of 
learning  where  Veranilda  was  imprisoned  ;  it  was  not  impos- 
sible that  through  this  woman  such  a  secret  might  be  dis- 
covered. He  the  rival  of  that  debauched  boy  !  He  the 
lover  of  Heliodora!  Had  he  sunk  so  low  in  the  esteem 
of  his  best  friend  ?  Why,  then,  it  was  time  indeed  to  be 
gone :  befall  him  what  might,  he  could  not  be  unhappier 
in  Constantinople  than  here  in  Rome. 

At  these  words,  Marcian  checked  him  with  a  surprised 
inquiry.  What  had  turned  his  thoughts  to  Constantinople  ? 
Basil  related  the  events  of  yesterday  and  of  this  morning. 

'  What  other  counsel  could  you  have  expected  from  Pela- 
gius  ? '  said  Marcian,  after  listening  attentively.  '  But  on  one 
point  I  can  reassure  you.  Veranilda  has  not  yet  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  the  Greeks.' 

'  How  do  you  know  that  ? '  exclaimed  Basil  eagerly. 

'  Enough  that  I  do  know  it.  Whilst  you  have  been  idling 
here — forgive  me,  good  Basil — I  have  travelled  far  and  con- 
versed with  many  men.  And  I  have  something  else  to  tell 
you,  which  will  perchance  fall  less  agreeably  upon  your  ear. 
The  fame  of  Veranilda  promises  to  go  forth  over  all  lands. 
King  Totila  himself  has  heard  of  her,  and  would  fain  behold 
this  ornament  of  his  race.' 

« Totila ! ' 

4  When  Cumae  was  besieged  by  the  Goths  three  months 
ago,  Chorsoman — whom  you  have  not  forgotten — made  terms 
with  Totila,  and  was  allowed  to  keep  some  portion  of  the 
plunder  he  had  amassed.  Thinking  to  do  the  king  a  pleasure, 
he  told  him  of  Veranilda,  of  the  commands  regarding  her 
which  had  come  from  the  East,  and  of  her  vanishing  no  one 
knew  whither.  And  of  these  things,  O  Basil,  did  Totila 
himself,  with  his  royal  mouth,  speak  unto  me  not  many  days 
gone  by.' 


SILVIA'S  DREAM  171 

'  I  see  not  how  that  concerns  me,'  said  Basil  wearily. 

1  True,  it  may  not.  Yet,  if  I  were  wooing  a  wife,  I  had 
rather  seek  her  at  the  hands  of  Totila  than  at  those  of 
Justinian.  To  be  sure,  I  did  not  speak  of  you  to  the  king ; 
that  would  have  been  less  than  discreet.  But  Totila  will  ere 
long  be  lord  of  all  Italy,  and  who  knows  but  the  deacon 
Leander,  no  friend  of  Constantinople,  might  see  his  interest 
and  his  satisfaction  in  yielding  Veranilda  rather  to  the  Goth 
than  to  the  Greek  ? ' 

Basil  started.  Such  a  thought  had  never  entered  his 
mind,  yet  he  saw  probability  in  the  suggestion. 

'  You  assure  me,'  he  said,  '  that  she  has  not  yet  been  sur- 
rendered. I  find  that  hard  to  believe.  Knowing  in  whose 
power  she  is,  how  comes  it  that  Bessas  does  not  seize  the 
insolent  Leander,  and  force  the  truth  from  him  ?  Were  I 
the  commander,  would  I  be  baffled  for  an  hour  by  that  sleek 
deacon  ? ' 

'Were  you  commander,  O  best  Basil,'  replied  Marcian, 
smiling,  '  you  would  see  things  in  another  light.  Bessas  does 
not  lay  hands  upon  the  deacon  because  it  is  much  more  to 
his  profit  to  have  the  clergy  of  Rome  for  his  friends  than  for 
his  enemies.  Whether  Veranilda  be  discovered  or  not,  he 
cares  little ;  I  began  to  suspect  that  when  I  saw  that  you 
came  off  so  easily  from  your  dealings  with  him.  'Tis  a  long 
road  to  Constantinople,  and  the  Thracian  well  knows  that  he 
may  perchance  never  travel  it  again.  His  one  care  is  to  heap 
up  treasure  for  to-day ;  the  morrow  may  look  after  itself. 
But  let  us  return  to  the  point  from  which  we  started.  Do 
you  think  in  earnest  of  voyaging  to  the  Bosporus  ? ' 

'  I  should  only  choose  a  hazard  so  desperate  were  it  the 
sole  chance  that  remained  of  recovering  Veranilda.' 

1  Wait,  then,  yet  awhile.  But  take  my  counsel,  and  do  not 
wait  in  Rome.' 

To  this  advice  Basil  gave  willing  ear.  Since  he  had  heard 
from  Pelagius  that  he  was  free  to  quit  the  city,  he  was  all 
but  resolved  to  be  gone.  One  thought  alone  detained  him  ; 
he  still  imagined  that  Heliodora  might  have  means  such  as 


i;2  VERANILDA 

she  professed  of  aiding  him  in  his  search,  and  that,  no  matter 
how,  he  might  subdue  her  will  to  his  own.  She,  of  course, 
aimed  only  at  enslaving  him,  and  he  knew  her  capable  of  any 
wickedness  in  the  pursuit  of  her  ends ;  for  this  very  reason 
was  he  tempted  into  the  conflict  with  her,  a  conflict  in  which 
his  passions  would  have  no  small  part,  and  whether  for  or 
against  him  could  not  be  foreseen.  Once  more  he  would 
visit  Heliodora ;  if  fruitlessly,  then  for  the  last  time. 
But  of  this  decision  he  did  not  speak  to  Marcian. 


CHAPTER    XV 

YOUNG  ROME 

AT  the  hour  named  by  Heliodora,  Basil  set  forth  alone  and 
rode  by  unfrequented  ways  towards  the  street  on  the  Quirinal 
named  Alta  Semita.  A  sense  of  shame  forbade  him  to  make 
known  even  to  his  slaves  whither  he  was  going.  He  kept 
repeating  to  himself  that  it  was  for  the  last  time ;  and  perhaps 
a  nobler  motive  would  have  withheld  him  altogether,  had  not 
the  story  told  by  Marcian  of  his  '  rival's '  insolent  menace 
rankled  in  him  and  urged  him  to  show  that  he  felt  no  fear. 
Chance  led  him  past  the  little  church  of  St.  Agatha,  which 
belonged  to  the  Arians ;  it  helped  him  to  fix  his  thoughts 
upon  Veranilda,  and  silently  he  swore  that  no  temptation 
should  prevail  against  the  fidelity  due  to  his  beloved. 

Not  far  from  the  Thermae  of  Constantine,  and  over 
against  that  long-ruined  sanctuary  of  ancient  Rome,  the 
Temple  of  Quirinus,  he  drew  rein  at  a  great  house  with  a 
semicircular  portico  of  Carystian  columns,  before  which  stood 
a  bronze  bull,  the  ornament  of  a  fountain  now  waterless  on 
either  side  of  the  doorway  was  a  Molossian  hound  in  marble. 
A  carriage  and  a  litter  waiting  here  showed  that  Heliodora 
had  visitors.  This  caused  Basil  to  hesitate  for  a  moment ; 
but  he  decided  to  enter  none  the  less.  At  his  knock  he  was 
at  once  admitted,  and  a  slave  was  sent  to  look  after  his 
horse. 

Few  houses  in  Rome  contained  so  many  fine  works  of 
ancient  sculpture  as  this,  for  its  master  had  been  distinguished 
by  his  love  of  such  things  in  a  time  when  few  cared  for 
them.  Some  he  had  purchased  at  a  great  price ;  more  than 

173 


1/4  VERANILDA 

one  masterpiece  he  had  saved  from  oblivion  amid  ruins,  or 
from  the  common  fate  of  destruction  in  a  lime-kiln.  Well 
for  him  had  he  been  content  to  pass  his  latter  years  with  the 
cold  creations  of  the  sculptor ;  but  he  turned  his  eyes  upon 
consummate  beauty  in  flesh  and  blood,  and  this,  the  last  of 
his  purchases,  proved  the  costliest  of  all. 

The  atrium  was  richly  adorned.  A  colossal  bust  of 
Berenice  faced  the  great  head  of  an  Amazon,  whilst  numerous 
statues,  busts,  and  vases  stood  between  the  pillars ;  mosaics 
on  the  floor  represented  hunting  scenes,  the  excellence  ot 
the  work  no  less  than  its  worn  condition  showing  it  to  be  of 
a  time  long  gone  by.  Following  his  conductor,  Basil  passed 
along  a  corridor,  and  into  a  peristyle  with  a  double  colon- 
nade. In  the  midst  of  a  little  garden,  planted  with  flowering 
shrubs,  rose  the  statue  which  its  late  owner  had  most  prized, 
an  admirable  copy  of  the  Aphrodite  of  Cnidos;  it  stood 
upon  a  pedestal  of  black  basalt  and  was  protected  by  a  light 
canopy  with  slender  columns  in  all  but  transparent  alabaster. 
Round  about  it  were  marble  seats,  and  here,  shielded  from 
the  sun  by  little  silken  awnings,  sat  Heliodora  and  her  guests. 
At  once  Basil  became  aware  of  the  young  Vivian,  whose 
boyish  form  (he  was  but  some  eighteen  years  old)  lounged 
among  cushions  on  the  seat  nearest  to  Heliodora,  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  her  beauty  in  a  languishing  gaze,  which,  as  soon 
as  he  beheld  the  new  comer,  flashed  into  fierceness.  The 
others  were  two  women,  young  and  comely,  whose  extra- 
vagant costume  and  the  attitudes  in  which  they  reclined 
proved  them  suitable  companions  of  the  lady  of  the  house. 
Whilst  yet  at  some  distance,  Basil  had  heard  a  feminine  voice 
rising  to  shrillness,  and  as  he  approached  the  group  he  found 
a  discussion  going  on  which  threatened  to  become  more 
than  vivacious.  The  shrill  speaker  he  had  met  here  before, 
who  she  was,  he  knew  not,  save  that  she  bore  the  name  of 
Muscula. 

1  You — you — you  ! '  this  lady  was  exclaiming  contemptu- 
ously. '  You  say  this,  and  you  say  that !  Mother  of  God ! 
What  do  you  know  about  racing  ?  When  were  you  last  in 


YOUNG   ROME  175 

the  circus  at  Constantinople  ?  At  eight  years  old  you  once 
told  me.  You  have  a  good  memory  if  you  can  remember  as 
far  back  as  that ! ' 

She  shrieked  a  laugh,  which  no  one  else  joined  in. 
Heliodora,  to  whom  the  speech  was  addressed,  affected  to 
smile  as  in  lofty  tolerance  of  infantine  pettishness.  At 
this  moment  Basil  stepped  up  to  her,  and  kissed  her  hand. 
As  though  for  contrast  with  Muscula's  utterance,  she  greeted 
him  in  the  softest  tone  her  voice  could  compass,  inviting  him 
with  a  gesture  to  take  a  place  at  her  side,  or  rather  at  her 
feet,  for  she  was  reclining  on  a  long  couch.  Heliodora's 
robe  was  of  hyacinth  blue,  broidered  in  silver  thread  with 
elaborate  designs.  Bracelets,  chains,  and  rings  shone  about 
her  in  the  wonted  profusion.  Above  the  flat  coils  of  her 
hair  lay  a  little  bunch  of  grapes  between  two  vine  leaves, 
wrought  in  gold,  and  at  her  waist  hung  a  dagger,  the  silver 
sheath  chased  with  forms  of  animals.  Standing  behind  her 
the  little  Anglian  slave  Laetus  gently  fanned  her  with  a  pea- 
cock's tail,  or  sprinkled  her  with  perfume  from  a  vial ;  the 
air  was  heavy  with  Sabaean  odours. 

'Ah,  here  is  lord  Basil!'  pursued  Muscula  with  a  mis- 
chievous glance  at  Vivian.  '  He  has  lived  at  Constantinople 
lately — not  thirty  or  forty  years  ago.  Tell  us,  sweet  lord ' — 
she  bent  towards  him  with  large,  rolling  eyes — '  was  it  not 
Helladius  who  won  for  the  Greens  when  Thomas  the  Blue 
was  overturned  and  killed  ? ' 

'For  all  I  know  it  may  have  been,'  replied  Basil  care- 
lessly ;  he  had  scarce  heard  the  question. 

'I  swear  you  are  wrong,  Muscula,' put  in  the  third  lady. 
'The  lord  Basil  cares  naught  for  such  things,  and  would 
not  contradict  you  lest  you  should  scratch  his  face — so 
dangerous  you  look,  much  more  like  a  cat  than  a  mouse. 
By  the  beard  of  Holy  Peter !  should  not  Heliodora  know, 
who,  though  she  is  too  young  to  remember  it  herself,  has 
heard  of  it  many  a  time  from  her  father.  You  think  too 
much  of  yourself,  O  Muscula,  since  you  ate  crumbs  from  the 
hands  of  Bessas.' 


176  VERANILDA 

The  boy  Vivian  gave  a  loud  laugh,  rolling  on  his  cushions. 

1 0  witty  Galla ! '  he  exclaimed.  '  Crumbs  from  the  hand 
of  Bessas.  Say  on,  say  on ;  I  love  your  spicy  wit,  O  Galla ! 
Cannot  you  find  something  sharp,  for  the  most  grave,  the 
most  virtuous  Basil  ? ' 

'Hold  your  saucy  tongue,  child,'  said  Heliodora  with  a 
pouting  smile.  '  But  it  is  true  that  Muscula  has  won  advance- 
ment. One  doesn't  need  to  have  a  very  long  memory  to 
recall  her  arrival  in  Rome.  There  are  who  say  that  she  came 
as  suckling  nurse  in  a  lady's  train,  with  the  promise  of 
marriage  to  a  freedman  when  her  mistress's  baby  was  weaned. 
That  is  malice,  of  course;  poor  Muscula  has  had  many 
enemies.  For  my  part,  I  have  never  doubted  that  she  was 
suckling  her  own  child,  nor  that  its  father  was  a  man  of 
honourable  name,  and  not  a  slave  of  the  Circus  stables  as 
some  said.' 

Again  Vivian  rolled  on  the  cushions  in  mirth,  until  he 
caught  Basil's  eye  as  it  glanced  at  him  with  infinite  scorn. 
Then  he  started  to  a  sitting  posture,  fingered  the  handle  of 
his  dagger,  and  glared  at  Heliodora's  neighbour  with  all  the 
insolent  ferocity  of  which  his  face  was  capable.  This  youth 
was  the  son  of  a  man  whose  name  sounded  ill  to  any  Roman 
patriot, — of  that  Opilio,  who,  having  advanced  to  high  rank 
under  King  Theodoric,  was  guilty  of  frauds,  fell  from  his 
eminence,  and,  in  hope  of  regaining  the  king's  favour,  forged 
evidence  of  treachery  against  Boethius.  His  attire  followed  the 
latest  model  from  Byzantium:  a  loose,  long-sleeved  tunic, 
descending  to  the  feet,  its  hue  a  dark  yellow,  and  over  that  a 
long  mantle  of  white  silk,  held  together  upon  one  shoulder 
by  a  great  silver  buckle  in  the  form  of  a  running  horse ;  silken 
shoes,  gold  embroidered,  with  leather  soles  dyed  purple ;  and 
on  each  wrist  a  bracelet.  His  black  hair  was  short,  and  crisped 
into  multitudinous  curls  with  a  narrow  band  of  gold  pressing 
it  from  the  forehead  to  the  ears. 

'  Oh,  look  at  little  Vivian  ! '  cried  Muscula.  '  He  has  the 
eyes  of  an  angry  rat.  What  vexes  him  ?  Is  it  because  he 
saw  Basil  touch  Heliodora's  slipper  ?  ' 


YOUNG  ROME  177 

'  If  I  had  ! '  sputtered  the  boy.     '  By  the  devil,  if  I  had  ! ' 

'Oh,  he  affrights  me!'  went  on  the  mocking  woman. 
'  Heliodora,  stroke  his  curls,  and  give  him  a  kiss,  I  beseech 
you.  Who  knows  what  dreadful  thing  may  happen  else  ? ' 

'I  have  had  enough  of  this,'  said  Galla,  rising  with  a 
careless  laugh.  'Your  house  has  been  intolerable,  most 
dear  Heliodora,  since  you  made  friends  with  Muscula.  Why 
you  did,  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know ;  but  for  my  part  I  take  a 
respectful  leave,  noble  lady,  until  I  hear  that  this  mouse  of 
the  Palatine  has  ceased  to  amuse  you  with  its  pretty  pranks. 
May  I  never  be  saved  if  she  is  fit  company  for  women  who 
respect  themselves.' 

1  Why  such  hurry,  O  chaste  Galla ! '  exclaimed  Muscula. 
1  Is  your  husband  at  home  for  once  ?  I  can  answer  for  it  he 
is  not  there  very  often  ;  the  wiser  man  he.' 

'Slap  her  face,  Galla,'  cried  Vivian.  'At  her!  She  will 
run  before  you.' 

Galla  moved  as  if  to  act  upon  this  advice,  but  the  voice 
of  Heliodora,  peremptory,  resonant,  checked  her  step. 

'  None  of  that !  Get  you  gone,  both  of  you,  and  try  con- 
clusions if  you  will  in  the  open  street.  Off!  Pack!  By 
the  Virgin  Mother,  if  you  linger  I  will  have  you  flung  out  of 
doors.' 

In  her  amazement  and  indignation,  Galla  rose  to  the  tips 
of  her  feet. 

'  This  to  me  \ '  she  screamed.  '  To  me,  the  only  woman  of 
noble  birth  and  honest  life  who  still  remained  your  friend ! 
Wanton !  witch  !  poisoner ! ' 

Basil  sprang  up  and  walked  aside,  overcome  with  shame 
at  the  scene  enacted  before  him,  and  fearing  it  would  end  in 
ignoble  violence.  He  heard  Muscula's  shriek  of  laughter,  a 
shout  of  anger  from  Vivian,  and  the  continued  railing  of 
Galla ;  then,  ere  he  had  taken  a  dozen  steps,  a  hand  touched 
him,  and  Heliodora's  voice  sounded  low  at  his  ear. 

'You  are  right,  dear  Basil.  Only  an  accident  prevented 
me  from  being  alone  at  your  hour.  Forgive  me.  We  will 
go  apart  from  these  base-tongued  creatures.' 

M 


i/8  VERANILDA 

But  almost  in  the  same  moment  sounded  another  voice, 
that  of  Muscula,  who  had  sprung  after  them. 

'Sweet  lord  Basil,'  she  murmured  at  his  ear,  'a  moment's 
patience,  for  I  have  that  to  say  which  is  worth  your  hearing.' 

Heliodora  stepped  aside.  Pale  with  fury,  she  held  her- 
self in  an  attitude  of  contemptuous  indifference. 

'  Speak  and  have  done  ! '  exclaimed  Basil  harshly. 

'  But  a  word,  Illustrious.  I  know  well  why  you  are  here. 
Not  for  this  woman's  painted  cheeks  and  essence-soaked 
hair :  you  had  enough  of  that  long  ago.  You  come  because 
she  pretends  to  know  a  secret  which  concerns  you  nearly. 
It  was  to  discover  this  secret  that  she  sought  friendship  with 
me.  But  do  not  imagine,  sweet  lord,  that  I  tell  all  I  know  to 
Heliodora.  I  have  played  with  her  curiosity  and  fooled  her. 
From  me  she  has  learnt  nothing  true.  Even  if  she  desired 
to  tell  you  the  truth — and  be  sure  she  does  not — she  could 
only  mislead  you.' 

Basil  was  standing  between  the  two  women,  his  eyes  on 
the  ground.  Had  he  watched  Heliodora  at  this  moment,  he 
would  have  understood  the  sudden  start  with  which  Muscula 
sprang  nearer  to  him  as  if  for  protection. 

'  I  alone,'  she  continued,  in  a  voice  not  so  subdued  but 
that  Heliodora  could  hear  every  word.  '  I  alone  can  discover 
for  you  what  you  wish  to  know.  Give  yourself  no  more 
trouble  in  suing  to  a  woman  of  whom  you  are  weary — a 
woman  evil  and  dangerous  as  a  serpent.  When  you  choose 
to  seek  me,  dear  lord,  I  will  befriend  you.  Till  that  day, 
fare  you  well,  and  beware  of  other  things  than  the  silver- 
hiked  dagger — which  she  would  draw  upon  me  did  she  dare. 
But  she  knows  that  I  too  have  my  little  bosom  friend' — 
she  touched  her  waist — 'though  it  does  not  glitter  before 
every  eye.' 

Therewith  Muscula  turned  and  tripped  off,  looking  back 
to  laugh  aloud  before  she  disappeared  in  the  corridor.  Galla 
was  already  gone,  half  persuaded,  half  threatened  away  by 
Vivian,  who  now  stood  with  knitted  brows  glaring  at  Basil. 

'  I  must  get  rid  of  this  boy,'  said  Heliodora  to  her  com- 
panion. '  In  a  moment  we  shall  be  alone.' 


YOUNG  ROME  179 

Basil  was  held  from  taking  curt  leave  only  by  Vivian's 
insolent  eyes;  when  Heliodora  moved,  he  stepped  slowly 
after  her. 

'Your  company  is  precious,  dear  Vivian,'  he  heard  her  say, 
'but  you  must  not  spoil  me  with  too  much  of  it.  Why  did 
you  not  go  away  with  Galla,  whose  wit  so  charms  you,  and 
whose  husband  is  so  complaisant?  There,  kiss  my  little 
finger,  and  say  good-bye.' 

'That  shall  be  when  it  pleases  me,'  was  Vivian's  reply. 
'To-day  I  have  a  mind  to  sup  with  you,  Heliodora.  Let 
that  intruder  know  it;  or  I  will  do  so  myself.' 

Heliodora  had  the  air  of  humouring  a  jest.  Putting  forth  a 
hand,  she  caught  the  stripling's  ear  and  pinched  it  shrewdly. 

'  Little  lord,'  she  said,  'you  take  too  large  a  liberty.' 

Whereto  Vivian  replied  with  a  pleasantry  so  broad  and  so 
significant  that  Heliodora's  cheek  fired;  for  she  saw  that 
Basil  stood  within  hearing. 

1  Nay,  I  must  be  brief  with  you,  young  monkey ! '  she 
exclaimed.  '  Away !  When  I  am  at  leisure  for  your  tricks 
I  will  send  for  you.  Be  off ! ' 

'And  leave  you  with  that  .  .  .?'  cried  the  other,  using 
a  villainous  word. 

Hereupon  Basil  addressed  him. 

'Whether  you  stay  or  go,  foul  mouth,  is  naught  to  me. 
I  am  myself  in  haste  to  be  gone,  but  I  will  not  leave  you 
without  a  lesson  by  which,  perchance,  you  may  profit.' 

As  he  uttered  the  last  word,  he  dealt  Vivian  such  a  buffet 
on  the  side  of  the  head  with  his  open  hand  that  the  youngster 
staggered.  The  result  of  this,  Basil  had  well  foreseen;  he 
stood  watchful,  and  in  an  instant,  as  a  dagger  gleamed  before 
his  eyes,  grasped  the  descending  arm  that  wielded  it.  Vivian 
struggled  furiously,  but  was  overcome  by  the  other's  strength. 
Flung  violently  to  the  ground,  his  head  struck  against  the 
edge  of  a  marble  seat,  and  he  lay  senseless. 

Heliodora  looked  on  with  the  eyes  with  which  she  had  often 
followed  a  fight  between  man  and  beast  in  the  amphitheatre. 
Pride,  and  something  more,  lit  up  her  countenance  as  she 
turned  to  Basil. 


i8o  VERANILDA 

'  Brave !  generous ! '  she  exclaimed,  her  hands  clasped 
against  her  bosom.  '  Not  even  to  draw  your  dagger !  Noble 
Basil ! ' 

'Have  him  looked  to,'  was  the  reply;  'and  console  him 
as  you  choose.  Lady,  I  bid  you  farewell.' 

For  a  moment  Heliodora  stood  as  though  she  would  let 
him  thus  depart.  Basil  was  nearing  the  entrance  to  the 
corridor,  when  she  sprang  after  him.  Her  arms  were  about 
his  neck;  her  body  clung  against  his;  she  breathed  hotly 
into  his  eyes  as  she  panted  forth  words,  Latin,  Greek,  all 
burning  with  shameless  desire.  But  Basil  was  not  thus  to  be 
subdued.  The  things  that  he  had  heard  and  seen,  and  now 
at  last  the  hand-to-hand  conflict,  had  put  far  from  him  all 
temptation  of  the  flesh ;  his  senses  were  cold  as  the  marbles 
round  about  him.  This  woman,  who  had  never  been  anything 
to  him  but  a  lure  and  a  peril,  whom  he  had  regarded  with  the 
contempt  natural  in  one  of  his  birth  towards  all  but  a  very  few 
of  her  sex,  now  disgusted  him.  He  freed  himself  from  her 
embrace  with  little  ceremony. 

'  Have  I  deceived  you  ? '  he  asked.  '  Have  I  pretended  to 
come  here  for  anything  but  my  own  purpose,  which  you 
pretended  to  serve  ? ' 

Heliodora  stood  in  a  strange  attitude,  her  arms  thrown 
back,  her  body  leaning  forward — much  like  some  fierce  and 
beautiful  animal  watching  the  moment  to  spring. 

'Do  you  believe  what  that  harlot  said?'  she  asked  in  a 
thick  voice. 

'Enough  of  it  to  understand  my  folly  in  hoping  to  learn 
anything  through  you.  Let  us  part,  and  think  of  each  other 
no  more.' 

She  caught  his  arm  and  put  her  face  close  to  his. 

'  Leave  me  thus,  and  your  life  shall  pay  for  it.' 

Basil  laughed  scornfully. 

'That  cockerel,'  he  replied,  pointing  to  Vivian,  who  was 
just  stirring,  '  sent  me  a  message  this  morning,  that  if  I  valued 
my  life  I  should  not  come  here.  I  heed  your  threat  no  more 
than  his.' 


YOUNG  ROME  181 

They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  and  Heliodora,  deep 
read  in  the  looks  of  men,  knew  that  her  desire  was  frustrate. 

'Go  then,'  she  said.  'Go  quickly,  lest  the  boy  pursue 
you.  His  second  aim  might  be  surer.' 

Basil  deigned  no  reply.  He  went  into  the  vestibule, 
waited  there  until  his  horse  was  brought  up,  and  rode  away. 

His  head  bent,  scarce  noting  the  way  he  took,  he  found 
himself  at  the  entrance  to  Trajan's  Forum.  Here  he  checked 
his  horse,  and  seemed  to  be  contemplating  that  scene  which 
for  centuries  had  excited  the  wonder  and  the  awe  of  men.  But 
when  he  rode  on  over  the  grass-grown  pavement,  he  was  as 
little  observant  of  the  arches,  statues,  galleries,  and  of  that 
great  column  soaring  between  Basilica  and  Temple,  as  of  the 
people  who  moved  hither  and  thither,  sparse,  diminutive. 
Still  brooding,  he  came  into  the  Via  Lata  and  to  the  house 
of  Marcian. 

Marcian,  said  the  porter,  was  closeted  with  certain  visitors. 

'  Make  known  to  him,'  said  Basil,  '  that  I  would  speak  but 
a  word  in  private.' 

They  met  in  the  atrium.     Marcian  smiled  oddly. 

'If  you  come  to  tell  me  what  you  have  heard  this  after- 
noon,' he  whispered,  'spare  your  breath.  I  know  it  already.' 

'  How  can  that  be  ? ' 

'  I  have  seen  an  angry  woman.  Angry  women  are  always 
either  very  mischievous  or  very  useful.  In  this  case  I  hope 
to  make  use  of  her.  But  I  can  tell  you  nothing  yet,  and  I 
would  that  you  were  far  from  Rome.  Could  I  but  persuade 
you  to  be  gone,  dear  Basil.' 

'I  need  no  more  persuading,'  replied  the  other,  with 
sudden  resolve.  '  If  it  be  true  that  I  am  free  to  leave  the 
city,  I  go  hence  to-morrow.' 

Marcian's  face  lighted  up. 

'  To  Asculum,  then  ? ' 

'  Since  here  I  have  no  hope.  Can  I  trust  you,  Marcian  ? ' 
he  added,  grasping  his  friend's  hand. 

'  As  yourself — nay,  better.' 

'Then,  to  Asculum.' 


CHAPTER    XVI 

WHISPERS 

THE  greater  part  of  southern  Italy  was  once  more  held  by 
the  Goths.  Whilst  the  long  blockade  of  Neapolis  went  on, 
Totila  found  time  to  subdue  all  that  lay  between  that  city 
and  the  Ionian  Sea,  meeting,  indeed,  with  little  resistance 
among  the  country-folk,  or  from  the  inhabitants  of  the  mostly 
unwalled  towns.  The  Imperial  forces  which  should  have 
been  arrayed  against  him  had  wintered  in  various  cities  of 
the  north,  where  their  leaders  found  all  they  at  present 
cared  for,  repose  and  plunder ;  their  pay  long  in  arrear,  and 
hardly  to  be  hoped  for,  the  Greek  soldiers  grew  insubordinate, 
lived  as  they  would  or  could,  and  with  the  coming  of  spring 
deserted  in  numbers  to  the  victorious  enemy.  Appeals  to 
Byzantium  for  reinforcements  had  as  yet  resulted  only  in  the 
sending  of  a  small,  ill-equipped  fleet,  which,  after  much  delay 
in  Sicilian  ports,  sailed  for  Neapolis,  only  to  be  surprised  by 
a  storm,  and  utterly  wrecked  on  the  shores  of  the  great  bay. 
Not  long  after  the  news  of  this  disaster,  it  was  reported  in 
Rome  that  Neapolis,  hopeless  of  relief,  had  opened  her  gates, 
and  presently  the  report  had  strange  confirmation.  There 
arrived  by  the  Appian  Way  officers  of  the  garrison  which  had 
surrendered ;  not  as  harassed  fugitives,  but  travelling  with  all 
convenience  and  security,  the  Gothic  king  himself  having 
expedited  their  journey  and  sent  guides  with  them  lest  they 
should  miss  the  road.  Nor  was  this  the  most  wonderful  of 
the  things  they  had  to  relate.  For  they  told  of  humanity  on 
the  part  of  the  barbarian  conqueror  such  as  had  no  parallel 
in  any  story  of  warfare  known  to  Greek  or  Roman ;  how  the 

18t 


WHISPERS  183 

Neapolitans  being  so  famine-stricken  that  they  could  scarce 
stand  on  their  legs,  King  Totila  would  not  at  once  send 
plentiful  stores  into  the  town,  lest  the  sufferers  should  die  of 
surfeit,  but  ministered  to  their  needs  even  as  a  friendly 
physician  would  have  done,  giving  them  at  first  little  food, 
and  more  as  their  strength  revived.  To  be  sure,  there  were 
partisans  of  the  Empire  in  Rome  who  scoffed  at  those  who 
narrated,  and  those  who  believed,  a  story  so  incredible.  On 
the  Palatine,  it  was  at  first  received  with  roars  of  laughter,  in 
which  the  lady  Muscula's  shrill  voice  had  its  part.  When 
confirmation  had  put  the  thing  beyond  dispute,  Bessas  and 
his  supporters  made  a  standing  joke  of  it;  if  any  one  fell 
sick,  their  word  was:  'Send  for  the  learned  Totila';  and 
when  there  was  talk  of  a  siege  of  Rome,  they  declared  that 
their  greatest  fear,  should  the  city  fall,  was  of  being  dieted 
and  physicked  by  the  victor. 

Romans  there  were,  however,  who  heard  all  this  in  another 
spirit.  The  ill-fed  populace  had  long  ago  become  ready  for 
any  change  which  might  benefit  their  stomachs,  and  the 
name  of  Totila  was  to  them  significant  of  all  they  lacked 
under  the  Greeks.  c  Let  the  Goth  come  quickly  ! '  passed 
from  mouth  to  mouth  wherever  the  vulgar  durst  speak  what 
they  thought.  Among  the  nobles,  prejudice  of  race  and 
religion  and  immemorial  pride  ensured  predominance  to  the 
Imperialists,  but  even  here  a  Gothic  party  existed,  and  im- 
prudent utterances  had  brought  certain  senators  into  suspicion. 
The  most  active  friend  of  Totila,  however,  was  one  whom 
Bessas  never  thought  of  suspecting,  having,  as  he  thought, 
such  evidence  of  the  man's  devotion  to  the  Greek  cause. 
Marcian  had  played  his  double  part  with  extraordinary  skill 
and  with  boldness  which  dared  every  risk.  He  was  now 
exerting  himself  in  manifold  ways,  subtly,  persistently,  for  the 
supreme  achievement  of  his  intrigue,  the  delivery  of  Rome 
from  Byzantine  tyranny. 

Among  the  many  persons  whom  he  made  to  serve  his  ends 
without  admitting  them  to  his  confidence  was  Galla,  the  wife 
of  a  noble  whom  Amalasuntha  had  employed  in  her  secret 


184  VERANILDA 

communications  with  Byzantium,  and  who  was  now  one  of 
the  intimates  of  Bessas.  A  light  woman,  living  as  she 
pleased  because  of  her  husband's  indifference,  Galla  knew 
and  cared  nothing  about  affairs  of  state,  and  on  that  account 
was  the  more  useful  to  Marcian.  She  believed  him  in  love 
with  her,  and  he  encouraged  the  belief,  flattering  her 
with  pretence  at  timidity,  as  though  he  would  fain  have 
spoken  but  durst  not.  Regarding  him  as  her  slave,  Galla 
amused  herself  by  sometimes  coming  to  his  house,  where,  as 
if  in  the  pride  of  chastity,  she  received  his  devotion,  and 
meanwhile  told  him  things  he  was  glad  to  know.  And  thus 
it  happened  on  that  day  of  the  quarrel  between  Heliodora 
and  Muscula,  wherein  Galla  unexpectedly  found  herself  in- 
volved. Bubbling  over  with  wrath  against  Heliodora,  she  at 
once  sought  out  Marcian,  acquainted  him  with  all  that  had 
happened,  and  made  evident  her  desire  to  be  in  some  way 
avenged.  Marcian  saw  in  this  trivial  affair  the  opportunity 
for  a  scheme  of  the  gravest  import ;  difficult,  perilous,  perhaps 
impracticable,  but  so  tempting  in  its  possibilities  that  he 
soon  resolved  to  hazard  everything  on  the  chance  of  success. 
Basil's  departure  from  Rome,  which  he  had  desired  for  other 
reasons,  fell  pat  for  the  device  now  shaping  itself  in  his 
mind.  A  day  or  two  after,  early  in  the  morning,  he  went  to 
Heliodora's  house,  and  sent  in  a  message  begging  private 
speech  with  the  lady.  As  he  had  expected,  he  was  received 
forthwith,  Heliodora  being  aware  of  his  friendship  with  Basil. 
Between  her  and  Marcian  the  acquaintance  was  but  slight ; 
he  had  hitherto  regarded  her  as  unserviceable,  because  too 
dangerous.  It  was  because  of  her  dangerous  qualities  that 
he  now  sought  her,  and  his  courage  grew  as  the  conversation 
became  intimate. 

He  began  with  a  confession.  Head  hanging,  visage 
gloomy,  in  slow,  indirect,  abashed  language,  he  let  it  be 
understood  that  though  truly  Basil's  friend,  he  had  all  along 
been  secretly  doing  his  utmost  to  frustrate  the  lover's  search 
for  the  Gothic  maiden  Veranilda,  and,  as  part  of  this  pur- 
pose, had  striven  to  turn  Basil's  thoughts  to  Heliodora. 


WHISPERS  185 

That  he  had  had  no  better  success  grieved  him  to  the  heart. 
All  who  wished  Basil  well,  desired  that  he  should  marry  a 
lady  of  his  own  rank,  his  own  religion,  and  could  he  but  have 
won  a  wife  such  as  Heliodora  ! 

'  Alas  ! '  sighed  Marcian,  '  it  was  too  much  to  hope.  How 
could  you  be  other  than  cold  to  him  ?  Had  you  deigned, 
thrice  gracious  lady,  to  set  your  beauty,  your  gifts,  in  contest 
with  his  memory  of  that  other ! ' 

In  every  man  that  approached  her,  Heliodora  suspected  a 
selfish  aim,  but  it  was  seldom  that  she  talked  with  one  whose 
subtlety  seemed  the  equal  of  her  own.  The  little  she  knew 
of  Marcian  had  predisposed  her  to  regard  him  as  a  cold  and 
melancholy  nature,  quite  uninteresting ;  she  eyed  him  now 
with  her  keenest  scrutiny,  puzzled  by  his  story,  vainly  seeking 
its  significance. 

'  Your  friend  complained  to  you  of  my  coldness  ? '  she  said 
distantly. 

'  He  scarce  spoke  of  you.  I  knew  too  well  with  what  hope 
he  came  here.  When  he  found  it  vain,  he  turned  away  in 
bitterness.' 

This  sounded  like  truth  to  one  who  knew  Basil.  After  a 
moment's  reflection,  Heliodora  made  another  inquiry,  and  in 
a  tone  of  less  indifference. 

'  Why,  lord  Marcian,  do  you  come  to  tell  me  this  ?  Basil 
has  quitted  Rome.  You  can  scarce  ask  me  to  pursue  him.' 

1  Lady,'  was  the  sad  reply,  '  I  will  not  even  yet  abandon 
hope.  But  this  is  not  the  moment  to  plead  his  cause  with 
you,  and  indeed  I  came  with  a  thought  more  selfish.1 

Ready  to  believe  whatever  might  be  uttered  with  such 
preface,  Heliodora  smiled  and  bade  the  speaker  continue. 
Again  Marcian's  head  drooped  ;  again  his  words  became 
hesitant,  vague.  But  their  purpose  at  length  grew  unmis- 
takable ;  unhappy  that  he  was,  he  himself  loved  Veranilda, 
and  the  vehemence  of  his  passion  overcame  his  loyalty  in 
friendship ;  never  whilst  he  lived  should  Basil  wed  the 
Gothic  maiden.  This  revelation  astonished  Heliodora ;  she 
inquired  when  and  how  Marcian  had  become  enamoured, 


186  VERANILDA 

and  heard  in  reply  a  detailed  narrative,  part  truth,  part  false, 
of  the  events  at  Surrentum,  known  to  her  as  yet  only  in  out- 
line and  without  any  mention  of  Marcian's  part  in  them. 
Upon  her  surprise  followed  malicious  joy.  Was  there  no 
means,  she  asked,  of  discovering  Veranilda?  And  the  other 
in  a  low  voice  made  answer  that  he  knew  where  she  was — 
knew  but  too  well. 

1 1  shall  not  ask  you  to  tell  me  the  secret,'  said  Heliodora, 
with  a  smile. 

1  Gracious  lady,'  pursued  Marcian,  '  it  is  for  the  purpose  of 
revealing  it  to  you  that  I  am  here.  Veranilda  is  in  the 
palace,  held  in  guard  by  Bessas  till  she  can  have  escort  to 
Constantinople.' 

I  Ha !    You  are  sure  of  that  ? ' 

I 1  have  it  on  testimony  that  cannot  be  doubted.' 

'Why  then,'  exclaimed  Heliodora,  all  but  betraying  her 
exultation  in  the  thought,  '  there  is  little  chance  that  Basil's 
love  will  prosper.' 

c  Little  chance,  dear  lady,  I  hope  and  believe,  but  I  have 
confessed  to  you  that  I  speak  as  a  self-seeker  and  a  faithless 
friend.  It  is  not  enough  that  Basil  may  not  wed  her;  I 
would  fain  have  her  for  myself.' 

The  listener  laughed.  She  began  to  think  this  man  some- 
thing of  a  simpleton. 

'  Why,  my  excellent  Marcian,  I  will  give  you  all  my  sym- 
pathy and  wish  you  good  fortune.  But  that  any  one  may  do. 
What  more  do  you  expect  of  me  ? ' 

Marcian  looked  towards  the  open  doorway.  They  were 
seated  in  a  luxurious  little  room,  lighted  from  the  peristyle,  its 
adornments  in  sculpture  a  sleeping  Hermaphrodite  and  a 
drunken  satyr;  on  the  wall  were  certain  marble  low-reliefs, 
that  behind  Heliodora  representing  Hylas  drawn  down  by 
the  Naiads. 

'  Speak  without  fear,'  she  reassured  him.  '  In  this  house, 
believe  me,  no  one  dare  play  the  eavesdropper.' 

1 1  have  to  speak,'  said  Marcian,  bending  forward,  (  of  things 
perilous — a  life  hanging  on  every  word.  Only  to  one  of 


WHISPERS  187 

whose  magnanimity  I  felt  assured  should  I  venture  to  dis- 
close my  thought.  You  have  heard,'  he  proceeded  after  a 
pause,  '  and  yet  I  am  perchance  wrong  in  supposing  that 
such  idle  talk  could  reach  your  ears,  let  me  make  known  to 
you  then,  that  with  Bessas  in  the  palace  dwells  a  fair 
woman  (or  so  they  say,  for  I  have  not  seen  her)  named 
Muscula.  She  is  said  to  have  much  power  with  the 
commander.' 

The  listener's  countenance  had  darkened.  Regarding 
Marcian  with  haughty  coldness,  she  asked  him  how  this 
could  concern  her.  He,  in  appearance  dismayed,  falteringly 
entreated  her  pardon. 

1  Be  not  angered,  O  noble  Heliodora  !  I  did  not  presume 
to  think  that  you  yourself  had  any  acquaintance  with  this 
woman.  I  wished  to  make  known  to  you  things  that  I  have 
heard  of  her — things  which  I  doubt  not  are  true.  But,  as  it 
is  only  in  my  own  interest  that  I  speak,  I  will  say  no  more 
until  I  have  your  permission.' 

This  having  been  disdainfully  granted,  Marcian  proceeded 
with  seeming  timid  boldness,  marking  in  his  listener's  eyes 
the  eager  interest  with  which  she  followed  him.  Though 
every  detail  of  the  story  was  of  his  own  invention,  its  plausi- 
bility had  power  upon  one  whose  passions  inclined  her  to 
believe  it.  He  told  then  that  Muscula,  bribed  by  Basil,  was 
secretly  endeavouring  to  procure  the  release  of  Veranilda, 
which  should  be  made  to  appear  an  escape  of  Basil's  con- 
triving. The  lover's  visits  to  Heliodora,  he  said,  and  his 
supposed  ignorance  as  to  where  Veranilda  was  detained,  were 
part  of  the  plot.  Already  Muscula  had  so  far  wrought  upon 
Bessas  that  success  seemed  within  view,  and  Basil's  depar- 
ture from  Rome  was  only  a  pretence ;  he  waited  near  at 
hand,  ready  to  carry  off  his  beloved. 

'How  come  you  to  know  all  this?'  Heliodora  asked 
bluntly  at  the  first  pause. 

'That  also  I  will  tell  you,'  answered  Marcian.  'It  is 
through  some  one  whom  Muscula  holds  of  more  account 
than  Bessas,  and  with  whom  she  schemes  against  him.' 


188  VERANILDA 

1  By  the  Holy  Mother ! '  exclaimed  Heliodora,  '  that  is 
yourself.' 

Marcian  shook  his  head. 

'  Not  so,  gracious  lady.' 

*  Nay,  why  should  you  scruple  to  confess  it  ?  You  love 
Veranilda,  and  do  you  think  I  could  not  pardon  an  intrigue 
which  lay  on  your  way  to  her  ? ' 

'  Nevertheless  it  is  not  I,'  persisted  the  other  gravely. 

'Be  it  so,'  said  Heliodora.  'And  in  all  this,  my  good 
Marcian,  what  part  have  I  ?  How  does  it  regard  me?  What 
do  you  seek  of  me  ? ' 

Once  more  the  man  seemed  overcome  with  confusion. 

'  Indeed  I  scarce  know,'  he  murmured.  '  I  hardly  dare 
to  think  what  was  in  my  mind  when  I  sought  you.  I  came 
to  you,  O  Heliodora,  as  to  one  before  whom  men  bow,  one 
whose  beauty  is  resistless,  whose  wish  is  a  command.  What 
gave  me  courage  was  a  word  that  fell  from  Bessas  himself 
when  I  sat  at  table  with  him  yesterday.  "  Wore  I  the 
purple,"  he  said,  "  Heliodora  should  be  my  Empress/" 

'  Bessas  said  that  ? ' 

'  He  did — and  in  the  presence  of  Muscula,  who  heard  it, 
I  am  bound  to  say,  with  a  sour  visage.' 

Heliodora  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed.  '  I  think  he 
has  scarce  seen  me  thrice,'  fell  from  her  musingly.  'Tell 
him  from  me,'  she  added,  'that  it  is  indiscreet  to  talk  of 
wearing  the  purple  before  those  who  may  report  his  words.' 

There  was  a  silence.  Marcian  appeared  to  brood,  and 
Heliodora  did  her  best  to  read  his  face.  If,  she  asked  her- 
self, he  had  told  her  falsehoods,  to  what  end  had  he  con- 
trived them  ?  Nothing  that  she  could  conjecture  was  for  a 
moment  satisfying.  If  he  told  the  truth,  what  an  opportunity 
were  here  for  revenge  on  Muscula,  and  for  the  frustration  of 
Basil's  desire. 

How  that  revenge  was  to  be  wrought,  or,  putting  it  the 
other  way,  how  Marcian  was  to  be  helped,  she  saw  as  yet 
only  in  glimpses  of  ruthless  purpose.  Of  Bessas  she  did  not 
think  as  of  a  man  easy  to  subdue  or  to  cajole ;  his  soldierly 


WHISPERS  189 

rudeness,  the  common  gossip  of  his  inconstancy  in  love, 
and  his  well-known  avarice,  were  not  things  likely  to  touch 
her  imagination,  nor  had  she  ever  desired  to  number  him 
in  the  circle  of  her  admirers.  That  it  might  be  in  her  power 
to  do  what  Marcian  besought,  she  was  very  willing  to  per- 
suade herself,  but  the  undertaking  had  such  colour  of  danger 
that  she  wished  for  more  assurance  of  the  truth  of  what  she 
had  heard. 

'  It  seems  to  me,'  she  said  at  length,  'that  the  hour  is  of  the 
latest.  What  if  Veranilda  escape  this  very  day  ? ' 

'Some  days  must  of  necessity  pass,'  answered  Marcian. 
'  The  plot  is  not  so  far  advanced.' 

He  rose  hurriedly  as  if  distracted  by  painful  thoughts. 

'  Noble  lady,  forgive  me  for  thus  urging  you  with  my  foolish 
sorrows.  You  see  how  nearly  I  am  distraught.  If  by  any 
means  you  could  aid  me,  were  it  only  so  far  as  to  withhold 
her  I  love  from  the  arms  of  Basil ' 

So  deep  was  Heliodora  sunk  in  her  thoughts  that  she 
allowed  Marcian  to  leave  her  without  another  word.  He, 
having  carried  his  machination  thus  far,  could  only  await  the 
issue,  counting  securely  on  Heliodora's  passions  and  her 
ruthlessness.  He  had  but  taken  the  first  step  towards  the 
end  for  which  he  schemed;  were  this  successful,  with  the 
result  that  Heliodora  used  her  charms  upon  the  Greek  com- 
mander, and,  as  might  well  happen,  obtained  power  over  him, 
he  could  then  proceed  to  the  next  stage  of  his  plot,  which 
had  a  scope  far  beyond  the  loves  of  Basil  and  Veranilda. 
That  the  Gothic  maiden  was  really  in  the  hands  of  Bessas 
he  did  not  believe ;  moreover,  time  had  soothed  his  jealousy 
of  Basil,  and,  had  he  been  able  to  further  his  friend's  desire, 
he  would  now  willingly  have  done  so ;  but  he  scrupled  not  to 
incur  all  manner  of  risks,  for  himself  and  others,  in  pursuit 
of  a  great  design.  Marcian's  convulsive  piety,  like  the 
religion  of  most  men  in  his  day,  regarded  only  the  salvation 
of  his  soul  from  eternal  torment,  nor  did  he  ever  dream  that 
this  would  be  imperilled  by  the  treacheries  in  which  his  life 
was  now  inured. 


190  VERANILDA 

Only  a  few  hours  after  his  departure,  Heliodora,  by  means 
familiar  to  her,  had  learnt  that  Marcian's  confidential  servant 
was  a  man  named  Sagaris,  a  conceited  and  talkative  fellow, 
given  to  boasting  of  his  light  loves.  Before  sunset,  Sagaris 
had  received  a  mysterious  message,  bidding  him  repair  that 
night  to  a  certain  place  of  public  resort  upon  the  Quirinal. 
He  did  so,  was  met  by  the  same  messenger,  and  bidden  wait 
under  a  portico.  Before  long  there  approached  through 
the  darkness  a  muffled  figure,  followed  by  two  attendants 
with  lanterns  ;  the  Syrian  heard  his  name  whispered ;  a  light 
touch  drew  him  further  away  from  the  lantern-bearing  slaves, 
and  a  woman's  voice,  low,  caressing,  began  to  utter  endear- 
ments and  reproaches.  Not  to-night,  it  said,  should  he  know 
who  she  was ;  she  could  speak  a  name  which  would  make 
his  heart  beat ;  but  he  should  not  hear  it  until  he  had  aban- 
doned the  unworthy  woman  whose  arts  had  won  him. 
'What  woman?'  asked  Sagaris  in  astonishment.  And  the 
answer  was  whispered,  '  Muscula.' 

Now  Muscula's  name  and  position  were  well  known  to  the 
Syrian.  The  reproach  of  the  mysterious  fair  one  made  him 
swell  with  pride ;  he  affected  inability  to  deny  the  charge, 
and  in  the  next  breath  declared  that  Muscula  was  but  his 
sport,  that  in  truth  he  cared  nothing  for  her,  he  did  but  love 
her  as  he  had  loved  women  numberless,  not  only  in  Rome, 
but  in  Alexandria,  Antioch,  Constantinople.  The  muffled 
lady  gave  a  deep  sigh.  Ah !  and  so  it  would  be  with  her, 
were  she  weak  enough  to  yield  to  her  passion.  Sagaris  began 
to  protest,  to  vow. 

'It  is  vain,'  replied  the  amorous  voice.  'Only  in  one 
way  can  you  convince  me  and  win  me.' 

'Oh,  how?' 

'  Let  me  hear  that  Muscula  is  dead.' 

Sagaris  stood  mute.  A  hand  touched  his  shoulder,  his 
hair ;  perfumes  loaded  the  air  about  him. 

'Tell  me  your  name  and  it  shall  be  done.' 

The  warm  mouth  breathed  against  his  cheek  and  a  name 
was  murmured. 


WHISPERS  191 

The  second  day  after  this  saw  an  event  in  the  Palatine 
which  was  matter  of  talk  for  some  two  days  more,  and  then 
passed  into  oblivion.  Rumour  said  that  Muscula  had  been 
detected  plotting  against  the  life  of  Bessas,  that  she  had  been 
examined  under  torture,  found  guilty,  and  executed.  Certain 
gossips  pretended  that  there  was  no  plot  at  all,  but  that 
Bessas,  weary  of  his  mistress,  had  chosen  this  way  of  getting 
rid  of  her.  Be  that  as  it  might,  Muscula  was  dead. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

LEANDER   THE    POLITIC 

FOR  most  of  his  knowledge  of  private  things  that  happened 
on  the  Palatine — and  little  that  went  on  in  the  household  of 
Bessas  escaped  him — Marcian  depended  upon  his  servant 
Sagaris.  Exorbitant  vanity  and  vagrant  loves  made  the 
Syrian  rather  a  dangerous  agent ;  but  it  was  largely  owing  to 
these  weaknesses  that  he  proved  so  serviceable.  His  master 
had  hitherto  found  him  faithful,  and  no  one  could  have 
worked  more  cunningly  and  persistently  when  set  to  play  the 
spy  or  worm  for  secrets.  Notwithstanding  all  his  efforts,  this 
man  failed  to  discover  whether  Veranilda  had  indeed  passed 
into  the  guardianship  of  Bessas ;  good  reason  in  Marcian's 
view  for  believing  that  she  was  still  detained  by  Leander,  and 
probably  in  some  convent.  But  a  rumour  sprang  up  among 
those  who  still  took  interest  in  the  matter  that  some  one 
writing  from  Sicily  professed  to  have  seen  the  Gothic  maiden 
on  board  a  vessel  which  touched  there  on  its  way  to  the  East. 
This  came  to  the  ears  of  Marcian  on  the  day  after  his  con- 
versation with  Heliodora.  Whether  it  were  true  or  not  he 
cared  little,  but  he  was  disturbed  by  its  having  become  sub- 
ject of  talk  at  this  moment,  for  Heliodora  could  not  fail  to 
hear  the  story. 

The  death  of  Muscula  set  him  quivering  with  expectancy. 
That  it  resulted  from  his  plotting  he  could  not  be  assured. 
Sagaris,  who  wore  a  more  than  usually  self-important  air 
when  speaking  of  the  event,  had  all  manner  of  inconsistent 
reports  on  his  tongue.  Not  many  days  passed  before 

198 


LEANDER   THE   POLITIC         193 

Marcian  received  a  letter,  worded  like  an  ordinary  invitation, 
summoning  him  to  the  house  on  the  Quirinal. 

He  went  at  the  third  hour  of  the  morning,  and  was  this 
time  led  upstairs  to  a  long  and  wide  gallery,  which  atone  side 
looked  down  upon  the  garden  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  and 
at  the  other  offered  a  view  over  a  great  part  of  Rome.  Here 
was  an  aviary,  constructed  of  fine  lattice  work  in  wood,  over- 
trailed  with  creeping  plants,  large  enough  to  allow  of  Helio- 
dora's  entering  and  walking  about  among  the  multitude  of 
birds  imprisoned.  At  this  amusement  Marcian  found  her. 
Upon  her  head  perched  a  little  songster ;  on  her  shoulder 
nestled  a  dove;  two  fledglings  in  the  palm  of  her  hand 
opened  their  beaks  for  food.  Since  her  last  visit  a  bird  had 
died,  and  Heliodora's  eyes  were  still  moist  from  the  tears  she 
had  shed  over  it. 

'You  do  not  love  birds,'  she  said,  after  gazing  fixedly  at 
Marcian  a  moment  through  the  trellis. 

'  I  never  thought,'  was  the  reply,  '  whether  I  loved  them  or 
not.' 

1 1  had  rather  give  my  love  to  them  than  to  any  of  mankind. 
They  repay  it  better.' 

She  came  forth,  carefully  closed  the  wicket  behind  her,  and 
began  to  pace  in  the  gallery  as  though  she  were  alone. 
Presently  she  stood  to  gaze  over  the  city  spread  before  her, 
and  her  eyes  rested  upon  the  one  vast  building — so  it  seemed 
— which  covered  the  Palatine  Hill. 

'  Marcian  ! ' 

He  drew  near.  Without  looking  at  him,  her  eyes  still  on 
the  distance,  she  said  in  an  unimpassioned  voice: 

'Did  you  lie  to  me,  or  were  you  yourself  deceived?' 

'  Lady,  I  know  not  of  what  you  speak.' 

'You  know  well.'  Her  dark  eyes  flashed  a  glance  of 
rebuke,  and  turned  scornfully  away  again.  'But  it  matters 
nothing.  I  sent  for  you  to  ask  what  more  you  have  to 
say.' 

Marcian  affected  surprise  and  embarrassment. 

'  It  was  my  hope,    gracious  lady,  that  some  good  news 

N 


194  VERANILDA 

awaited  me  on  your  lips.  What  can  I  say  more  than  you 
have  already  heard  from  me  ? ' 

1  Be  it  so,'  was  the  careless  reply.  '  I  have  nothing  to  tell 
you  except  that  Veranilda  is  not  there.'  She  pointed  towards 
the  palace.  '  And  this  I  have  no  doubt  you  know.' 

'  Believe  me,  O  Heliodora,'  he  exclaimed  earnestly,  4 1  did 
not.  I  was  perhaps  misled  by ' 

Her  eyes  checked  him. 

c  By  whom  ?  ' 

'  By  one  who  seemed  to  speak  with  honesty  and  assurance.' 

'  Let  us  say,  then,  that  you  were  misled  ;  whether  deceived 
or  not,  concerns  only  yourself.  And  so,  lord  Marcian, 
having  done  what  I  can  for  you,  though  it  be  little,  I  entreat 
your  kind  remembrance,  and  God  keep  you.' 

Her  manner  had  changed  to  formal  courtesy,  and,  with 
this  dismissal,  she  moved  away  again.  Marcian  stood 
watching  her  for  a  moment,  then  turned  to  look  at  the 
wide  prospect.  A  minute  or  two  passed;  he  heard 
Heliodora's  step  approaching. 

'  What  keeps  you  here  ? '  she  asked  coldly. 

'  Lady,  I  am  thinking.' 

'Of  what?' 

c  Of  the  day  soon  to  come  when  Totila  will  be  king  in  Rome.' 

Heliodora's  countenance  relaxed  in  a  smile. 

'Yet  you  had  nothing  more  to  say  to  me,'  she  murmured 
in  a  significant  tone. 

'There  were  much  to  say,  Heliodora,  to  one  whom  I 
knew  my  friend.  I  had  dared  to  think  you  so.' 

'What  proof  of  friendship  does  your  Amiability  ask?' 
inquired  the  lady  with  a  half-mocking,  half-earnest  look. 

As  if  murmuring  to  himself,  Marcian  uttered  the  name 
'Veranilda.' 

'They  say  she  is  far  on  the  way  to  Constantinople,' 
said  Heliodora.  '  If  so,  and  if  Bessas  sent  her,  his  craft 
is  greater  than  I  thought.  For  I  have  spoken  with  him, 
and' — she  smiled  —  'he  seems  sincere  when  he  denied 
all  knowledge  of  the  maiden.' 


LEANDER  THE   POLITIC         195 

Marcian  still  gazed  at  the  distance.  Again  he  spoke  as  if 
unconsciously  murmuring  his  thoughts: 

'Totila  advances.  In  Campania  but  a  few  towns  still 
await  his  conquest.  The  Appian  Way  is  open.  Ere 
summer  be  past  he  will  stand  at  the  gates  of  Rome. 

'Rome  is  not  easily  taken,'  let  fall  the  listener,  also 
speaking  as  though  absently. 

'  It  is  more  easily  surrendered,'  was  the  reply. 

'  What !     You  suspect  Bessas  of  treachery  ? ' 

'We  know  him  indolent  and  neglectful  of  duty.  Does  he 
not  live  here  at  his  ease,  getting  into  his  own  hands,  little  by 
little,  all  the  wealth  of  the  Romans,  careless  of  what  befall  if 
only  he  may  glut  his  avarice  ?  He  will  hold  the  city  as  long 
as  may  be,  only  because  the  city  is  his  possession.  He  is 
obstinate,  bull-headed.  Yet  if  one  were  found  who  could 
persuade  him  that  the  cause  of  the  Greeks  is  hopeless — that, 
by  holding  out  to  the  end,  he  will  merely  lose  all,  whereas, 
if  he  came  to  terms ' 

Marcian  was  watching  Heliodora's  face.  He  paused. 
Their  eyes  met  for  an  instant. 

'Who  can  be  assured,'  asked  Heliodora  thoughtfully,  'that 
Totila  will  triumph  ?  They  say  the  Patricius  will  come  again.' 

'Too  late.  Not  even  Belisarius  can  undo  the  work  of 
Alexandros  and  these  devouring  captains.  From  end  to  end 
of  Italy,  the  name  of  the  Greeks  is  al  horred ;  that  of  Totila  is 
held  in  honour.  He  will  renew  the  kingdom  of  Theodoric.' 

Marcian  saw  straight  before  him  the  aim  of  all  his 
intrigue.  It  was  an  aim  unselfish,  patriotic.  Though  peril 
of  the  gravest  lay  in  every  word  he  uttered,  not  this  made 
him  tremble,  but  the  fear  lest  he  had  miscalculated,  counting 
too  securely  on  his  power  to  excite  this  woman's  imagination. 
For  as  yet  her  eye  did  not  kindle.  It  might  be  that  she  dis- 
trusted herself,  having  learnt  already  that  Bessas  was  no  easy 
conquest.  Or  it  might  be  that  he  himself  was  the  subject  of 
her  distrust. 

'What  is  it  to  you?'  she  suddenly  asked,  with  a  fierce 
gaze.  '  Can  the  Goth  bring  Veranilda  back  to  Italy  ? ' 


196  VERANILDA 

'  I  do  not  believe  that  she  has  gone.' 

Marcian  had  knowledge  enough  of  women,  and  of 
Heliodora,  to  harp  on  a  personal  desire  rather  than  hint 
at  high  motive.  But  he  was  impelled  by  the  turmoil  of  his 
fears  and  hopes  to  excite  passions  larger  than  jealousy. 
Throwing  off  all  restraint,  he  spoke  with  hot  eloquence  of 
all  that  might  be  gained  by  one  who  could  persuade  the 
Greek  commander  to  open  the  gates  of  Rome.  Totila  was 
renowned  for  his  generosity,  and  desired  above  all  things  to 
reconcile,  rather  than  subdue,  the  Roman  people;  scarce 
any  reward  would  seem  to  him  too  great  for  service  such  as 
helped  this  end. 

'Bessas  lies  before  you.  Ply  your  spells;  make  of  him 
your  creature;  then  whisper  in  his  ear  such  promise  of 
infinite  gold  as  will  make  his  liver  melt.  For  him  the  baser 
guerdon  ;  for  you,  O  Heliodora,  all  the  wishes  of  your  noble 
heart,  with  power,  power,  power  and  glory  unspeakable ! ' 

Heliodora  pondered.  Then,  without  raising  her  head, 
she  asked  quietly : 

1  You  speak  for  the  King  ? ' 

'For  the  King,'  was  answered  in  like  tone. 

1  Come  to  me  again,  Marcian,  when  I  have  had  time  for 
thought.' 

With  that  they  parted.  On  the  same  day,  Sagaris  was 
bidden  as  before  to  a  meeting  after  nightfall,  and  again  he 
conversed  with  a  lady  whose  face  was  concealed  from  him. 
She  began  with  a  gentle  reproof,  for  he  had  ventured  to  pre- 
sent himself  at  her  door,  and  to  beg  audience.  Let  him  be 
patient;  his  hour  would  come,  but  it  must  be  when  she 
chose.  Many  questions  did  she  put  to  him,  all  seeming  to 
be  prompted  by  interest  in  the  Gothic  maiden  of  whom 
Sagaris  had  heard  so  much.  With  the  simplicity  of  in- 
ordinate conceit,  he  assured  her  that  here  she  had  no  ground 
for  jealousy;  Veranilda  he  had  never  beheld.  Softly  she 
corrected  his  error ;  her  interest  in  the  maiden  was  a  friendly 
one.  Only  let  him  discover  for  her  where  Veranilda  was 
concealed.  Sagaris  was  led  to  avow  that  in  this  very  search  he 


LEANDER  THE  POLITIC         197 

and  his  master  had  been  vainly  occupied  for  many  a  day ; 
it  had  carried  them,  he  declared  in  a  whisper,  even  to  the 
camp  of  King  Totila.  With  this  the  questioner  appeared  to 
be  satisfied,  and  the  Syrian  was  soon  dismissed,  promises  in 
a  caressing  voice  his  sole  reward. 

When  Marcian  next  held  speech  with  Heliodora — it  was 
after  some  days — she  bore  herself  more  openly.  In  the  course 
of  their  talk,  he  learnt  that  she  had  consulted  an  astrologer, 
and  with  results  wholly  favourable  to  his  design.  Not  only 
had  this  man  foretold  to  her  that  Totila  was  destined  to  reign 
gloriously  over  the  Italians  for  many  years,  but  he  saw  in 
Heliodora's  own  fate  a  mysterious  link  with  that  of  the  tri- 
umphant king ;  her,  under  the  Gothic  conquest,  great  things 
awaited.  '  Do,'  was  his  counsel,  '  that  which  thou  hast  in 
mind.'  Hearing  all  this,  Marcian's  heart  leaped  with  joy. 
He  urged  her  to  pursue  their  end  with  all  the  speed  that 
prudence  permitted.  For  his  own  part,  he  would  make  known 
to  Totila  as  soon  as  might  be  the  hope  of  his  friends  in  Rome. 

Again  some  days  passed,  and  Marcian  received  one  of  those 
messages  which  at  times  reached  him  from  the  Gothic  king. 
Totila's  bidding  was  contained  in  a  few  words  :  Let  Marcian 
seek  speech  with  the  deacon  Leander.  Surprised,  but  having 
full  confidence  in  the  messenger,  Marcian  presently  wrote  to 
the  deacon  in  brief  terms,  saying  that  he  wished  to  converse 
with  him  regarding  a  certain  heretic  of  whom  he  had  hopes. 
To  this  came  prompt  reply,  which  did  not,  however,  invite 
Marcian,  as  he  had  expected,  to  a  meeting  in  private ;  but 
merely  said  that,  on  the  morrow,  an  hour  after  sunrise, 
Leander  would  be  found  in  a  certain  public  place. 

Leander  was  busied  just  now  in  a  matter  peculiarly  con- 
genial to  him,  the  destruction  of  an  ancient  building  in  order 
to  enrich  with  its  columns  and  precious  marbles  a  new  Chris- 
tian church.  At  the  hour  appointed,  Marcian  found  him  in 
the  temple  of  Minerva  Chalcidica,  directing  workmen  as  to 
what  they  should  remove ;  before  him  lay  certain  mouldings 
in  green  porphyry  (the  precious  lapis  Laccdaemonius),  which 
had  been  carefully  broken  from  their  places,  and  he  was  re- 


198  VERANILDA 

garding  them  with  the  eye  of  a  lover.  For  the  first  few 
minutes  of  their  conversation,  Marcian  felt  mistrust,  as  the 
deacon  appeared  to  have  no  intelligence  of  any  secret  purpose 
in  this  meeting ;  but  presently,  still  gossiping  of  stones, 
Leander  led  him  out  of  the  temple  and  walked  in  the  shadowy 
public  place  beside  the  Pantheon. 

'That  must  be  purified  and  consecrated,'  he  remarked, 
glancing  from  the  granite  columns  of  Agrippa's  porch  to  the 
bronze-tiled  dome.  'Too  long  it  has  been  left  to  the 
demons.' 

Marcian,  preoccupied  as  he  was,  listened  with  awe.  Since 
the  ravage  of  the  Vandals,  no  mortal  had  passed  those  vast 
doors,  behind  which  all  the  gods  of  heathendom,  known  now 
for  devils,  lurked  in  retreat. 

'  I  have  urged  it  upon  the  Holy  Father,'  Leander  added. 
'  But  Vigilius  is  all  absorbed  in  the  dogmatics  of  Byzantium. 
A  frown  of  the  Empress  Theodora  is  more  to  him  than  the 
glory  of  the  Omnipotent  and  the  weal  of  Christendom.' 

The  look  which  accompanied  these  words  was  the  first  hint 
to  Marcian  that  he  might  speak  in  confidence.  He  inquired 
whether  the  Pope,  as  was  reported,  would  shortly  sail  for 
Constantinople. 

'  Before  another  week  has  passed,'  was  the  reply,  '  he  will 
embark.  He  would  fain  go  forth' — a  malicious  smile  was  in 
the  corner  of  Leander's  eye — 'without  leave-taking  of  his 
beloved  people ;  but  that  can  scarce  be  permitted.' 

'Ere  he  return,'  said  Marcian,  'things  of  moment  may 
happen.' 

Again  the  deacon  smiled.  Seeing  on  the  steps  of  the 
Pantheon  a  couple  of  idlers  playing  at  flash-finger,  they 
turned  aside  to  be  out  of  earshot. 

'We  are  agreed,  it  seems,'  remarked  Leander  quickly, 
'that  there  is  hope  of  the  heretic.  You  had  news  of  him 
yesterday  ?  I,  also.  It  may  be  in  my  power  to  render  him 
some  service — presently,  presently.  Meanwhile,  what  can  you 
tell  me  of  the  lost  maiden  about  whom  there  has  been  so  much 
talk  ?  Is  it  true  that  Bessas  has  sent  her  to  the  East  ? ' 


LEANDER  THE   POLITIC         199 

Marcian  turned  his  eyes  upon  the  speaker's  face,  and  re- 
garded him  fixedly  with  a  half  smile.  For  a  moment  the 
deacon  appeared  to  be  unconscious  of  this ;  then  he  met  the 
familiar  look,  averted  his  head  again,  and  said  in  the  same 
tone  as  before : 

'The  heretic,  I  learn,  would  gladly  see  her.' 

'  It  would  be  as  well,  I  think,'  was  the  reply,  'if  his  wish  were 
gratified.' 

1  Ah  ?  But  how  would  that  please  a  friend  of  yours,  dear 
lord  ? '  asked  Leander,  with  unaffected  interest. 

Marcian's  answer  was  in  a  tone  of  entire  sincerity,  very 
unlike  that  he  had  used  when  speaking  on  this  subject  with 
Heliodora. 

'  It  might  please  him  well  or  ill.  The  King ' — he  lowered 
his  voice  a  little — 'would  see  with  gladness  this  beautiful 
maiden  of  his  own  people,  sprung  too  from  the  royal  blood, 
and  would  look  with  favour  upon  those  who  delivered  her  in 
safety  to  him.  Should  he  make  her  his  queen,  and  I  believe 
she  is  worthy  of  that,  the  greater  his  gratitude  to  those  who 
prevented  her  marriage  with  a  Roman.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  found  that  she  could  not  forget  her  first  lover,  Totila  is 
large-hearted  enough  to  yield  her  up  in  all  honour,  and 
politic  enough  to  see  advantage  in  her  union  with  the  heir  of 
the  Anician  house.  Between  these  things,  Basil  must  take  his 
chance.  Had  he  carried  off  his  love,  he  would  have  wedded 
her  in  disregard  of  every  danger ;  and  so  long  as  it  was  only 
the  Greeks  that  sought  her,  I  should  have  done  my  best  to  aid 
and  to  protect  him.  It  is  different  now.  Basil  I  hold  dearer 
than  any  friend ;  his  place  is  in  my  very  heart,  and  his  happiness 
is  dearer  to  me  than  my  own ;  but  I  cannot  help  him  to  frus- 
trate a  desire  of  Totila.  The  King  is  noble  ;  to  serve  him  is 
to  promote  the  weal  of  Italy,  for  which  he  fights,  and  in  which 
name  he  will  conquer.' 

The  deacon  had  paused  in  his  walk.  He  looked  thought- 
fully about  him.  At  this  moment  there  came  along  the 
street  an  ox-drawn  wagon,  on  which  lay  the  marble  statue 
of  a  deity ;  Leander  stepped  up  to  it,  examined  the  marble, 


200  VERANILDA 

spoke  with  the  men  who  were  conveying  it,  and  returned  to 
Marcian  with  a  shake  of  the  head. 

'  It  pains  me  to  see  such  carven  beauty  burnt  to  lime. 
And  yet  how  many  thousands  of  her  worshippers  are  now 
burning  in  Gehenna.  Lord  Marcian,'  he  resumed,  'you 
have  spoken  earnestly  and  well,  and  have  given  me  good 
proof  of  your  sincerity.  I  think  with  you,  and  willingly 
would  work  with  you.' 

'Reverend,  does  no  opportunity  present  itself? ' 

'In  this  moment,  none  that  I  can  see,'  was  the  suave 
answer. 

'  Yet  I  perceive  that  you  have  made  some  offer  of  service 
to  the  King.' 

'  It  is  true ;  and  perchance  you  shall  hear  more  of  it.  Be 
not  impatient ;  great  things  are  not  hastily  achieved.' 

With  sundry  other  such  remarks,  so  uttered  that  their  trite- 
ness seemed  to  become  the  maturity  of  wisdom,  Leander 
brought  the  colloquy  to  an  end.  It  was  his  principle  to  trust  no 
man  unless  he  were  assured  of  a  motive  strong  enough  to  make 
him  trustworthy,  and  that  motive  he  had  not  yet  discovered 
in  Marcian.  Nor,  indeed,  was  he  entirely  sure  of  himself; 
for  though  he  had  gone  so  far  as  to  communicate  with  the 
Gothic  king,  it  was  only  in  view  of  possibilities  whose  issue 
he  still  awaited.  If  the  Pope  set  forth  for  Constantinople, 
he  would  leave  as  representative  in  Rome  the  deacon  Pela- 
gius,  and  from  this  brother  cleric  Leander  had  already 
received  certain  glances,  which  were  not  to  be  misunder- 
stood. The  moment  might  shortly  come  when  he  would 
need  a  friend  more  powerful  than  any  he  had  within  the  city. 

But  Vigilius  lingered,  and  Leander,  save  in  his  influence 
with  the  irresolute  Pontiff,  postponed  the  step  he  had  in 
view. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

PELAGIUS 

ROME  waited.  It  had  been  thought  that  the  fall  of  Neapolis 
would  be  followed  by  Totila's  swift  march  along  the  Appian 
Way;  but  three  months  had  passed,  and  the  Gothic  king 
was  but  little  nearer  to  the  city.  He  seemed  resolved  to 
leave  nothing  behind  him  that  had  not  yielded  to  his  arms ; 
slowly  and  surely  his  rule  was  being  established  over  all  the 
South.  Through  the  heats  of  summer,  with  pestilence  still 
lurking  in  her  palaces  and  her  dens,  no  fountain  plashing 
where  the  sun  blazed  on  Forum  and  on  street,  Rome  waited. 

In  June  Bessas  was  joined  by  another  of  the  Greek  com- 
manders, Joannes,  famed  for  his  ferocity,  and  nicknamed  the 
Devourer.  A  show  of  activity  in  the  garrison  resulted  from 
this  arrival ;  soldiers  were  set  to  work  upon  parts  of  the  city 
wall  which  needed  strengthening ;  the  Romans  began  to 
make  ready  for  a  siege  ;  and  some,  remembering  the  horrors 
of  a  few  years  ago,  took  to  flight.  There  was  much  talk  of 
a  conspiracy  to  open  the  gates  to  Totila ;  one  or  two  senators 
were  imprisoned,  and  a  few  Arian  priests  who  still  dwelt  in 
Rome  were  sentenced  to  banishment.  But  when,  after  a  few 
weeks,  Joannes  and  his  troop  marched  northward,  commo- 
tion ceased ;  Bessas  fell  back  into  the  life  of  indolent  rapacity, 
work  on  the  walls  was  soon  neglected,  and  Rome  found  that 
she  had  still  only  to  wait. 

About  this  time  Marcian  fell  sick.  He  had  suffered 
much  from  disappointment  of  high  hopes,  neither  Heliodora 
nor  Leander  aiding  his  schemes  as  he  expected.  The  constant 

danger  in  which  he  lived  tried  his  fortitude  to  the  utmost, 

201 


202  VERANILDA 

and  at  length  he  began  to  burn  with  fever.  Agonies  came 
upon  him,  for  even  the  slightest  disorder  in  these  plague- 
stricken  times  filled  men  with  fear.  And  whilst  he  lay  thus 
wretched,  his  servants  scarce  daring  to  attend  upon  him — 
Sagaris  refused  to  enter  his  chamber,  and  held  himself  ready 
for  flight  (with  all  he  could  lay  hands  on)  as  soon  as  the 
physician  should  have  uttered  the  fatal  word — whilst  his 
brain  was  confused  and  his  soul  shaken  with  even  worse  than 
the  wonted  terrors,  there  came  to  visit  him  the  deacon  Pela- 
gius.  That  the  visit  happened  at  this  moment  was  mere 
chance,  but  Pelagius,  hearing  of  Marcian's  condition,  felt 
that  he  could  not  have  come  more  opportunely.  A  courage- 
ous man,  strong  in  body  as  in  mind,  he  was  not  to  be  alarmed 
by  mere  talk  of  the  pest ;  bidding  the  porter  conduct  him, 
he  came  to  Marcian's  bedside,  and  there  sat  for  half  an  hour. 
When  he  went  away,  his  handsome  countenance  wore  a  smile 
of  thoughtful  satisfaction. 

As  though  this  conversation  had  relieved  him,  the  sick 
man  at  once  began  to  mend.  But  with  his  recovery  came 
another  torment.  Lying  in  fear  of  death  and  hell,  he  had 
opened  his  soul  to  Pelagius,  and  had  revealed  secrets  upon 
which  depended  all  he  cared  for  in  this  world.  Not  only  he 
himself  was  ruined,  but  the  lives  of  those  he  had  betrayed 
were  in  jeopardy.  That  suspicion  was  busy  with  him  he 
knew ;  the  keen-sighted  deacon  had  once  already  held  long 
talk  with  him,  whereupon  followed  troublesome  interroga- 
tion by  Bessas,  who  had  since  regarded  him  with  some- 
what a  sullen  eye.  How  would  Pelagius  use  the  knowledge 
he  had  gained?  Even  when  quite  recovered  from  the 
fever,  Marcian  did  not  venture  to  go  forth,  lest  an  enemy 
should  be  waiting  for  him  without.  In  his  weak,  dejected, 
and  humbled  state  he  thought  of  the  peace  of  a  monastery, 
and  passed  most  of  his  time  in  prayer. 

But  when  a  few  days  had  passed  without  event,  and  increas- 
ing strength  enabled  him  to  think  less  brain-sickly,  he  began 
to  ask  whether  he  himself  had  not  peradventure  been  betrayed. 
It  was  a  long  time  since  he  had  seen  Heliodora,  who  appeared 


PELAGIUS  203 

to  be  making  no  effort  for  the  conquest  of  the  Greek  com- 
mander; had  she  merely  failed,  and  lost  courage,  or  did  the 
change  in  her  mean  treachery  ?  To  trust  Heliodora  was  to 
take  a  fool's  risk ;  even  a  little  wound  to  her  vanity  might 
suffice  to  turn  her  against  him.  At  their  last  meeting  she 
had  sat  with  furrowed  brows,  brooding  as  if  over  some  wrong, 
and  when  he  urged  her  for  an  explanation  of  her  mood,  she 
was  first  petulant,  then  fiery,  so  that  he  took  umbrage  and 
left  her.  Happily  she  knew  none  of  his  graver  secrets,  much 
though  she  had  tried  to  discover  them.  Were  she  traitorous, 
she  could  betray  him  alone. 

But  he,  in  the  wreck  of  his  manhood,  had  uttered  many 
names  besides  hers — that  of  Basil,  from  whom  he  had  recently 
heard  news,  that  of  the  politic  Leander,  those  of  several  nobles 
engaged  in  the  Gothic  cause.  Scarcely  could  he  believe  that 
he  had  been  guilty  of  such  baseness;  he  would  fain  have 
persuaded  himself  that  it  was  but  a  memory  of  delirium. 
He  cursed  the  subtlety  of  Pelagius,  which  had  led  him  on 
till  everything  was  uttered  Pelagius,  the  bosom  friend  of 
Justinian,  would  know  how  to  deal  with  plotters  against  the 
Empire.  Why  had  he  not  already  struck?  What  cunning 
held  his  hand  ? 

Unable  at  length  to  sit  in  idleness,  he  tried  to  ease  his 
conscience  by  sending  a  warning  to  Basil,  using  for  this 
purpose  the  trustworthy  slave  who,  in  many  disguises,  was 
wont  to  travel  with  his  secret  messages.  This  man  wore  false 
hair  so  well  fixed  upon  his  head  that  it  could  not  attract  atten- 
tion ;  the  letter  he  had  to  deliver  was  laid  beneath  an  artificial 
scalp. 

'  Be  on  your  guard,'  thus  Marcian  wrote.  '  Some  one  has 
made  known  to  the  Greeks  that  you  are  arming  men,  and  for 
what  purpose.  Delay  no  longer  than  you  must  in  joining  the 
King.  In  him  is  your  only  hope,  if  hope  there  still  can  be. 
I,  too,  shall  soon  be  in  the  camp.' 

These  last  words  were  for  his  friend's  encouragement.  As 
soon  as  the  letter  had  been  despatched,  he  went  forth  about 
Rome  in  his  usual  way,  spoke  with  many  persons,  and  re- 


204  VERANILDA 

turned  home  unscathed.  Plainly,  then,  he  was  to  be  left  at 
liberty  yet  awhile ;  Pelagius  had  purposes  to  serve.  Next 
day,  he  betook  himself  to  the  Palatine  ;  Bessas  received  him 
with  bluff  friendliness,  joked  about  his  escape  from  death 
(for  every  one  believed  that  he  had  had  the  plague),  and 
showed  no  sign  of  the  mistrust  which  had  marked  their  last 
meeting.  In  gossip  with  certain  Romans  who  were  wont  to 
hang  about  the  commander,  flattering  and  fawning  upon  him 
for  their  base  advantage,  he  learnt  that  no  one  had  yet 
succeeded  to  the  place  left  vacant  by  the  hapless  Muscula ; 
only  in  casual  amours,  generally  of  the  ignoblest,  did  Bessas 
bestow  his  affections.  Of  Heliodora  there  was  no  talk. 

Another  day  he  passed  in  sauntering;  nothing  that  he 
could  perceive  in  those  with  whom  he  talked  gave  hint  of 
menace  to  his  safety.  Then,  early  the  next  morning,  he 
turned  his  steps  to  the  Quirinal.  As  usual,  he  was  straight- 
way admitted  to  Heliodora's  house,  but  had  to  wait  awhile 
until  the  lady  could  receive  him.  Gloomily  thoughtful, 
standing  with  eyes  fixed  upon  those  of  the  great  bust  of 
Berenice,  he  was  startled  by  a  sudden  cry  from  within  the 
house,  the  hoarse  yell  of  a  man  in  agony ;  it  was  repeated, 
and  became  a  long  shriek,  rising  and  falling  in  terrible  undu- 
lation. He  had  stepped  forward  to  seek  an  explanation, 
when  Heliodora's  eunuch  smilingly  came  to  meet  him. 

'  What  is  that  ? '  asked  Marcian,  his  nerves  a-quiver. 

'  The  noble  lady  has  ordered  a  slave  to  be  punished,'  was 
the  cheerful  reply. 

'What  is  his  fault?' 

'Illustrious,  I  know  not,'  answered  the  eunuch  more 
gravely. 

The  fearful  sounds  still  continuing,  Marcian  turned  as 
though  to  hurry  away ;  but  the  eunuch,  following,  implored 
him  not  to  go,  for  his  departure  would  but  increase  Helio- 
dora's wrath.  So  for  a  few  more  minutes  he  endured  the 
horror  of  that  unbroken  yell.  When  it  ceased,  he  could  hear 
his  heart  beating. 

Summoned  at  length  to  the  lady's  presence,  he  found  her 


PELAGIUS  205 

lying  in  the  chamber  of  the  Hermaphrodite.  A  strange  odour 
floated  in  the  air,  overcoming  that  of  wonted  perfumes. 

Faint  with  a  sudden  nausea,  Marcian  performed  no  cour- 
tesy, but  stood  regarding  the  living  woman  much  as  he  had 
gazed  at  the  face  in  marble,  absent  and  sombre-browed. 

'  What  now  ?  '  were  Heliodora's  first  words,  her  smile  fading 
in  displeasure. 

'  Must  we  needs  converse  in  your  torture-chamber  ? '  asked 
Marcian. 

'  Are  your  senses  more  delicate  than  mine  ? ' 

'It  seems  so.  I  could  wish  I  had  chosen  another  hour 
for  visiting  you.' 

'  It  was  well  chosen,'  said  Heliodora,  regarding  him  fixedly. 
1  This  slave  I  have  chastised,  shall  I  tell  you  of  what  he  was 
guilty  ?  He  has  a  blabbing  tongue.' 

'  I  see  not  how  that  concerns  me,'  was  his  cold  reply,  as 
he  met  her  look  with  steady  indifference. 

From  her  lounging  attitude  Heliodora  changed  suddenly 
to  one  in  which,  whilst  seated,  she  bent  forward  as  though 
about  to  spring  at  him. 

'How  comes  it  that  Bessas  knows  every  word  that  has 
passed  between  us  ?  '  broke  fiercely  from  her  lips. 

In  an  instant  Marcian  commanded  himself,  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  laughed. 

'  That  is  a  question,'  he  said,  '  to  put  to  your  astrologer,  your 
oneirocritic,  your  genethliac.  I  profess  not  to  read  mysteries.' 

'  Liar ! '  she  shot  out.  '  How  could  he  have  had  it  but 
from  your  own  lips  ? ' 

Marcian  betook  himself  to  his  utmost  dissimulation,  and 
the  talk  of  the  next  few  minutes — on  his  part,  deliberately 
provocative;  on  hers,  recklessly  vehement — instructed  him 
in  much  that  he  had  desired  to  learn.  It  was  made  clear  to 
him  that  a  long  combat  of  wills  and  desires  had  been  in 
progress  between  the  crafty  courtesan  and  the  half  wily  and 
the  half  brutal  soldier,  with  a  baffling  of  Heliodora's  devices 
which  would  never  have  come  to  his  knowledge  but  for  this 
outbreak  of  rage.  How  far  the  woman  had  gone  in  her  lures, 


206  VERANILDA 

whether  she  had  played  her  last  stake,  he  could  not  even  now 
determine ;  but  he  suspected  that  only  such  supreme  defeat 
could  account  for  the  fury  in  which  he  beheld  her.  Bessas, 
having  (as  was  evident)  heard  the  secret  from  Pelagius,  might 
perchance  have  played  the  part  of  a  lover  vanquished  by  his 
passions,  and  then,  after  winning  his  end  by  pretence  of 
treachery  to  the  Emperor,  had  broken  into  scoffing  revela- 
tion. That  were  a  triumph  after  the  Thracian's  heart. 
Having  read  thus  far  in  the  past,  Marcian  had  to  turn 
anxious  thought  upon  the  future,  for  his  position  of  seeming 
security  could  not  long  continue.  He  bent  himself  to 
allay  the  wrath  he  had  excited.  Falling  of  a  sudden  into 
a  show  of  profound  distress,  he  kept  silence  for  a  little,  then 
murmured  bitterly : 

'  I  see  what  has  happened.  When  the  fever  was  upon  me, 
my  mind  wandered,  and  I  talked.' 

So  convincing  was  the  face,  the  tone,  so  plausible  the 
explanation,  that  Heliodora  drew  slowly  back,  her  fury  all 
but  quenched.  She  questioned  him  as  to  the  likely  betrayer, 
and  the  name  of  Sagaris  having  been  mentioned,  used  the 
opportunity  to  learn  what  she  could  concerning  the  man. 

'  I  cannot  promise  to  give  him  up  to  you  to  be  tortured,' 
said  Marcian,  with  his  characteristic  smile  of  irony. 

'That  I  do  not  ask.  But,'  she  added  significantly,  'will 
you  send  him  here,  and  let  me  use  gentler  ways  of  discovering 
what  I  can  ? ' 

'That,  willingly.' 

And  when  Marcian  went  away,  he  reflected  that  all  was  not 
yet  lost.  For  Heliodora  still  had  faith  in  the  prophecy  of 
her  astrologer ;  she  was  more  resolute  than  ever  in  her  resolve 
to  triumph  over  Bessas ;  she  could  gain  nothing  to  this  end 
by  helping  her  confederate's  ruin.  Before  parting,  they  had 
agreed  that  Marcian  would  do  well  to  affect  ignorance  of  the 
discovery  Bessas  had  made;  time  and  events  must  instruct 
them  as  to  the  projects  of  their  enemies,  and  guide  their 
own  course. 

That  same  day,  he  despatched  the  Syrian  with  a  letter  to 
Heliodora,  and  on  the  man's  return  spoke  with  him  as  if 


PELAGIUS  207 

carelessly  of  his  commission.  He  remarked  that  the  face  of 
Sagaris  shone  as  though  exultantly,  but  no  indiscreet  word 
dropped  from  the  vaunter's  lips.  A  useful  fellow,  murmured 
Marcian  within  himself,  and  smiled  contempt. 

Another  day  or  two  of  indecision,  then  in  obedience  to  an 
impulse  he  could  no  longer  resist,  he  sought  speech  with  the 
deacon  Pelagius.  Not  without  trouble  was  this  obtained,  for 
Pelagius  was  at  all  times  busy,  always  beset  by  suitors  of 
every  degree,  the  Romans  holding  him  in  high  reverence,  and 
making  their  appeals  to  him  rather  than  to  the  Pope,  for 
whom  few  had  a  good  word.  When  at  last  Marcian  was 
admitted  to  the  deacon's  presence,  he  found  himself  dis- 
concerted by  the  long,  silent  scrutiny  of  eyes  deep  read  in 
the  souls  of  men.  No  word  would  reach  his  lips. 

'I  have  been  expecting  you,'  said  the  deacon  at  length, 
gravely,  but  without  severity.  'You  have  made  no  haste  to 
come.' 

'  Most  reverend,'  replied  Marcian,  in  a  tone  of  the  deepest 
reproach,  '  I  knew  not  certainly  whether  I  had  indeed  made 
confession  to  you,  or  if  it  was  but  a  dream  of  fever.' 

Pelagius  smiled.  He  was  standing  by  a  table,  and  his 
hand  lay  upon  an  open  volume. 

'You  are  of  noble  blood,  lord  Marcian,'  he  continued, 
'  and  the  greatness  of  your  ancestors  is  not  unknown  to  you. 
Tell  me  by  what  motive  you  have  been  induced  to  play  the 
traitor  against  Rome.  I  cannot  think  it  was  for  the  gain 
that  perishes.  Rather  would  I  suppose  you  misled  by  the 
opinion  of  Cassiodorus,  whose  politics  were  as  unsound  as  his 
theology.  I  read  here,  in  his  treatise  De  Anima,  that  there 
is  neither  bliss  nor  torment  for  the  soul  before  the  great  Day 
of  Judgment — a  flagrant  heresy,  in  utter  contradiction  of  the 
Scriptures,  and  long  ago  refuted  by  the  holy  Augustine.  Can 
you  trust  in  worldly  matters  one  who  is  so  blinded  to  the 
clearest  truths  of  eternity  ? ' 

'I  confess,'  murmured  the  listener,  'that  I  thought  him 
justified  in  his  support  of  the  Gothic  kingdom.' 

'You  are  content,  then,  you  whose  ancestors  have  sat  in 
the  Senate,  to  be  ruled  by  barbarians?  You,  a  Catholic, 


208  VERANILDA 

revolt  not  against  the  dominions  of  Arians  ?  And  so  little  is 
your  foresight,  your  speculation,  that  you  dream  of  permanent 
conquest  of  Italy  by  this  leader  of  a  barbaric  horde?  I 
tell  you,  lord  Marcian,  that  ere  another  twelvemonth  has 
passed,  the  Goths  will  be  defeated,  scattered,  lost.  The 
Emperor  is  preparing  a  great  army,  and  before  the  end  of 
summer  Belisarius  will  again  land  on  our  shores.  Think  you 
Totila  can  stand  against  him?  Be  warned;  consider  with 
yourself.  Because  your  confession  had  indeed  something  of 
sickness  in  it,  I  have  forborne  to  use  it  against  you  as  another 
might  have  done.  But  not  with  impunity  can  you  resume 
your  traitorous  practices ;  of  that  be  assured.' 

He  paused,  looking  sternly  into  Marcian's  face. 

1 1  hare  no  leisure  to  debate  with  you,  to  confute  your 
errors.  One  thing  only  will  I  add,  before  dismissing  you  to 
ponder  what  I  have  uttered.  It  is  in  your  power  to  prove 
your  return  to  reason  and  the  dignity  of  a  Roman  ;  I  need 
not  say  how ;  the  occasion  will  surely  ere  long  present  itself, 
and  leave  you  in  no  doubt  as  to  my  meaning.  Remember, 
then,  how  I  have  dealt  with  you;  remember,  also,  that  no 
such  indulgence  will  be  granted  to  a  renewal  of  your  crime 
against  Rome,  your  sin  against  God.' 

Marcian  dropped  to  his  knees;  there  was  a  moment  of 
silence ;  then  he  arose  and  went  forth. 

A  week  passed,  and  there  came  the  festival  of  St.  Laurentius. 
All  Rome  streamed  out  to  the  basilica  beyond  the  Tibur- 
tine  Gate,  and  among  those  who  prayed  most  fervently  at  the 
shrine  was  Marcian.  He  besought  guidance  in  an  anguish 
of  doubt.  Not  long  ago,  in  the  early  days  of  summer,  carnal 
temptation  had  once  more  overcome  him,  and  the  sufferings, 
the  perils,  of  this  last  month  he  attributed  to  that  lapse  from 
purity.  His  illness  was  perhaps  caused  by  excess  of  rigour 
in  penitence.  To-day  he  prayed  with  many  tears  that  the 
Roman  martyr  would  enlighten  him,  and  make  him  under- 
stand his  duty  to  Rome. 

As  he  was  leaving  the  church,  a  hand  touched  him;  he 
turned,  and  beheld  the  deacon  Leander,  who  led  him  apart. 


PELAGIUS  209 

'It  is  well  that  I  have  met  you,'  said  the  cleric,  with  less 
than  his  usual  bland  deliberation.  '  A  messenger  is  at  your 
house  to  bid  you  come  to  me  this  evening.  Can  you  leave 
Rome  to-morrow  ? ' 

'  On  what  mission  ? ' 

Leander  pursed  his  lips  for  a  moment,  rolled  his  eyes 
hither  and  thither,  and  said  with  a  cautious  smile : 

'  That  for  which  you  have  been  waiting.' 

With  difficulty  Marcian  dissembled  his  agitation.  Was 
this  the  saint's  reply  to  his  prayer  ?  Or  was  it  a  temptation 
of  the  Evil  Power,  which  it  behoved  him  to  resist  ? 

'I  am  ready,'  he  said,  off-hand. 

'  You  will  be  alone  for  the  first  day's  journey,  and  in  the 
evening  you  will  be  met  by  such  attendants  as  safety  demands. 
Do  you  willingly  undertake  the  charge?  Or  is  there  some 
new  danger  which  you  had  not  foreseen  ? ' 

'There  is  none,'  replied  Marcian,  'and  I  undertake  the 
charge  right  willingly.' 

'  Come  to  me,  then,  at  sunset.  The  travel  is  planned  in  every 
detail,  and  the  letters  ready.  What  follower  goes  with  you  ? ' 

'  The  same  as  always — Sagaris.' 

'Confide  nothing  to  him  until  you  are  far  from  Rome. 
Better  if  you  need  not  even  then.' 

Leander  broke  off  the  conference,  and  walked  away  at  a  step 
quicker  than  his  wont.  But  Marcian,  after  lingering  awhile 
in  troubled  thought,  returned  to  the  martyr's  grave.  Long 
he  remained  upon  his  knees,  the  conflict  within  him  so  violent 
that  he  could  scarce  find  coherent  words  of  prayer.  Mean- 
while the  August  sky  had  clouded,  and  thunder  was  beginning 
to  roll.  As  he  went  forth  again,  a  flash  ®f  lightning  dazzled 
him.  He  saw  that  it  was  on  the  left  hand,  and  took  courage 
to  follow  the  purpose  that  had  shaped  in  his  thoughts. 

That  evening,  after  an  hour's  close  colloquy  with  Leander, 
he  betook  himself  by  circuitous  way  to  the  dwelling  of 
Pelagius,  and  with  him  again  held  long  talk.  Then  went 
home,  through  the  dark,  still  streets,  to  such  slumber  as  his 
conscience  might  permit. 

O 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  PRISONER  OF  PRAENESTE 

ON  the  morrow  of  St.  Laurentius,  at  that  point  of  dawn  when 
a  man  can  recognise  the  face  of  one  who  passes,  there  issued 
from  the  Lateran  a  silent  company  equipped  for  travel.  In  a 
covered  carriage  drawn  by  two  horses  sat  the  Pope,  beside 
him  a  churchman  of  his  household ;  a  second  carriage  con- 
veyed the  deacon  Leander  and  another  ecclesiastic ;  servants 
and  a  baggage  vehicle  brought  up  the  rear.  With  what  speed 
it  could  over  the  ill-paved  roads,  this  procession  made  for  the 
bank  of  the  Tiber  below  the  Aventine,  where,  hard  by  the 
empty  public  granaries,  a  ship  lay  ready  to  drop  down 
stream.  It  was  a  flight  rather  than  a  departure.  Having  at 
length  made  up  his  mind  to  obey  the  Emperor's  summons, 
Vigilius  endeavoured  to  steal  away  whilst  the  Romans  slept 
off  their  day  of  festival.  But  he  was  not  suffered  to  escape 
thus.  Before  he  had  reached  the  place  of  embarkation,  folk 
began  to  run  shouting  behind  his  carriage.  Ere  he  could  set 
foot  on  board  the  vessel  a  crowd  had  gathered.  The  farewell 
of  the  people  to  their  supreme  Pontiff  was  given  in  a  volley 
of  stones  and  potsherds,  whilst  the  air  rang  with  maledictions. 
Notwithstanding  his  secret  hostility,  Leander  had  of  late 
crept  into  Vigilius'  confidence,  thus  protecting  himself  against 
his  formidable  adversary  Pelagius.  He  was  now  the  Pope's 
travelling  companion  as  far  as  Sicily.  Had  he  remained  in 
Rome,  the  authority  of  Pelagius  would  have  fallen  heavily 
upon  him,  and  he  could  scarce  have  escaped  the  humiliation 
of  yielding  his  Gothic  captive  to  Justinian's  friend.  Apprised 

only  a  day  before  of  Vigilius'  purpose,  he  had  barely  time  to 
210 


THE  PRISONER  OF  PRAENESTE  211 

plot  vrith  Marcian  for  the  conveyance  of  Veranilda  to  Totila's 
camp.  This  had  long  been  his  intention,  for,  convinced  that 
Totila  would  rule  over  Italy,  he  saw  in  the  favour  of  the  king 
not  only  a  personal  advantage,  but  the  hope  of  the  Western 
Church  in  its  struggle  with  Byzantium.  Driven  at  length  to 
act  hurriedly,  he  persuaded  himself  that  he  could  use  no 
better  agent  than  Marcian,  who  had  so  deeply  pledged  him- 
self to  the  Gothic  cause.  Of  what  had  passed  between 
Marcian  and  Pelagius  he  of  course  knew  nothing.  So,  as  the 
ship  moved  seaward  upon  tawny  Tiber,  and  day  flamed  upon 
the  Alban  hills,  Leander  laughed  within  himself.  He  enjoyed 
a  plot  for  its  own  sake,  and  a  plot,  long  savoured,  which  gave 
him  triumph  over  ecclesiastical  rivals,  and  even  over  the 
Emperor  Justinian,  was  well  worth  the  little  risk  that  might 
ensue.  When  he  returned  to  Rome,  it  would  doubtless  be 
with  the  victorious  Goth — safe,  jubilant,  and  ere  long  to  be 
seated  in  the  chair  of  the  Apostle. 

At  the  same  hour  Marcian  was  riding  along  the  Praenestine 
Way,  the  glory  of  summer  sunrise  straight  before  him.  The 
thought  most  active  in  his  mind  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
contest  of  nations  or  with  the  fate  of  Rome :  it  was  that  on 
the  morrow  he  should  behold  Veranilda.  For  a  long  time  he 
had  ceased  to  think  of  her ;  her  name  came  to  his  lips  in 
connection  with  artifice  and  intrigue,  but  the  maiden  herself 
had  faded  into  nothingness,  no  longer  touched  his  imagination. 
He  wondered  at  that  fantastic  jealousy  of  Basil  from  which 
he  had  suffered.  This  morning,  the  caress  of  the  warm  air, 
the  scents  wafted  about  him  as  he  rode  over  the  great  brown 
wilderness,  revived  his  bygone  mood.  Again  he  mused  on 
that  ideal  loveliness  which  he  attributed  to  the  unseen  Veran- 
ilda. For  nearly  a  year  she  had  been  sought  in  vain  by 
her  lover,  by  Greek  commanders,  by  powerful  churchmen; 
she  had  been  made  the  pretext  of  far-reaching  plots  and  con- 
spiracies ;  her  name  had  excited  passions  vehement  and 
perilous,  had  been  the  cause  of  death.  Now  he  was  at  length 
to  look  upon  her;  nay,  she  was  to  pass  into  his  guardian- 
ship, and  be  by  him  delivered  into  the  hands  of  the  warrior 


212  VERANILDA 

king.  Dreaming,  dreaming,  he  rode  along  the  Praenestine 
Way. 

Though  the  personal  dignity  of  Pelagius  and  the  calm  force 
of  his  speech  had  awed  and  perturbed  him,  Marcian  soon 
recovered  his  habitual  mind.  He  had  thought  and  felt  too 
deeply  regarding  public  affairs  to  be  so  easily  converted  from 
the  cause  for  which  he  lived.  A  new  treachery  was  imposed 
upon  him.  When,  after  receiving  all  his  instructions  from 
Leander,  he  went  to  see  Pelagius,  it  was  in  order  to  secure 
his  own  safety  and  the  fulfilment  of  his  secret  mission  by  a 
seeming  betrayal  of  him  he  served.  He  knew  that  his  every 
movement  was  watched ;  he  could  not  hope  to  leave  Rome 
without  being  stopped  and  interrogated.  If  he  desired  to 
carry  out  Leander's  project — and  he  desired  it  the  more 
ardently  the  longer  he  reflected — his  only  course  was  this. 
Why  did  it  agitate  him  more  than  his  treachery  hitherto? 
Why  did  he  shake  and  perspire  when  he  left  Pelagius,  after 
promising  to  bring  Veranilda  to  Rome  ?  He  knew  not  him- 
self— unless  it  were  due  to  a  fear  that  he  might  perform  his 
promise. 

This  fear  it  was,  perhaps,  which  had  filled  his  short  sleep 
with  dreams  now  terrible,  now  luxurious.  This  fear  it  was 
which  caught  hold  of  him,  at  length  distinct  and  intelligible, 
when,  on  turning  his  head  towards  the  city  soon  after  sunrise, 
he  became  aware  of  a  group  of  horsemen  following  him  at  a 
distance  of  half  a  mile  or  so.  Thus  had  it  been  agreed  with 
Pelagius.  The  men  were  to  follow  him,  without  approach- 
ing, to  a  certain  point  of  his  journey,  then  would  close  about 
him  and  his  attendants,  who  would  be  inferior  in  number, 
and  carry  them,  with  the  Gothic  maiden,  back  to  Rome.  At 
the  sight  Marcian  drew  rein,  and  for  a  moment  sat  in  his 
saddle  with  bent  head,  suffering  strangely.  Sagaris  came 
up  to  his  side,  regarded  him  with  anxious  eye,  and  asked 
whether  the  heat  of  the  sun's  rays  incommoded  him  ;  where- 
upon he  made  a  negative  sign  and  rode  on. 

He  tried  to  laugh.  Had  he  forgotten  the  subtlety  of  his 
plot  for  deceiving  Pelagius  ?  To  have  made  known  to  the 


THE   PRISONER  OF  PRAENESTE2I3 

deacon  where  Veranilda  really  was,  would  have  been  a  grave 
fault  in  strategy.  These  armed  horsemen  imagined  that  a 
two  days'  journey  lay  before  them,  whereas  the  place  of  Veran- 
ilda's  imprisonment  would  be  reached  this  evening.  The 
artifice  he  had  elaborated  was,  to  be  sure,  full  of  hazard ; 
accident  might  disconcert  everything ;  the  instruments  upon 
whom  he  reckoned  might  fail  him.  But  not  because  of  this 
possibility  was  his  heart  so  miserably  perturbed.  It  was 
himself  that  he  dreaded — the  failure  of  his  own  purpose,  the 
treachery  of  his  own  will. 

On  he  rode  in  the  full  eye  of  the  August  sun.  The  vast, 
undulant  plain  spread  around  him;  its  farms,  villas,  aque- 
ducts no  less  eloquent  of  death  than  the  tombs  by  the  way- 
side ;  its  still  air  and  the  cloudless  azure  above  speaking  to  a 
man's  soul  as  with  the  voice  of  eternity.  Marcian  was  very 
sensible  of  such  solemn  influence.  More  than  once,  in 
traversing  this  region,  he  had  been  moved  to  bow  his  head 
in  devotion  purer  than  that  which  commonly  inspired  his 
prayers,  but  to-day  he  knew  not  a  moment's  calm.  All  within 
him  was  turbid,  subject  to  evil  thoughts. 

A  little  before  noon  he  made  his  first  halt.  Amid  the  ruins 
of  a  spacious  villa  two  or  three  peasant  families  had  their 
miserable  home,  with  a  vineyard,  a  patch  of  tilled  soil,  and  a 
flock  of  goats  for  their  sustenance.  Here  the  travellers, 
sheltered  from  the  fierce  sun,  ate  of  the  provisions  they 
carried,  and  lay  resting  for  a  couple  of  hours.  Marcian  did 
not  speak  with  the  peasants,  but  he  heard  the  voice  of  a 
woman  loud  in  lamentation,  and  Sagaris  told  him  that  it 
was  for  the  death  of  a  child,  who,  straying  yesterday  at  night- 
fall, had  been  killed  by  a  wolf.  Many  hours  had  the  mother 
wept  and  wailed,  only  interrupting  her  grief  to  vilify  and  curse 
the  saint  to  whose  protection  her  little  one  was  confided. 

When  he  resumed  his  journey,  Marcian  kept  glancing  back 
until  he  again  caught  sight  of  the  company  of  horsemen ; 
they  continued  to  follow  him  at  the  same  distance.  On  he 
rode,  the  Alban  hills  at  his  right  hand,  and  before  him,  on 
its  mountain  side,  the  town  for  which  he  made.  The  sun 


214  VERANILDA 

was  yet  far  from  setting  when  he  reached  Praeneste.  Its 
great  walls  and  citadel  towering  on  the  height  above  told  of 
ancient  strength,  and  many  a  noble  building,  within  the  city 
and  without,  monuments  of  glory  and  luxury,  resisted  doom. 
Sulla's  Temple  of  Fortune  still  looked  down  upon  its  columned 
terraces,  but  behind  the  portico  was  a  Christian  church,  and 
where  once  abode  the  priests  of  the  heathen  sanctuary,  the 
Bishop  of  Praeneste  had  now  his  dwelling.  Thither  did 
Marcian  straightway  betake  himself.  The  bishop,  a  friend 
and  ally  of  Leander,  received  him  with  cordiality,  and  eagerly 
read  the  letter  he  brought.  Asked  whether  Vigilius  had  left 
Rome,  Marcian  was  able  to  tell  something  of  the  Pope's 
departure,  having  heard  the  story  just  before  his  own  setting 
forth ;  whereat  the  prelate,  a  man  of  jovial  aspect,  laughed 
unrestrainedly. 

'To  supper!  to  supper!'  he  exclaimed  with  hospitable 
note.  '  Time  enough  for  our  business  afterwards.' 

But  Marcian  could  not  postpone  what  he  had  to  say.  Beg- 
ging the  bishop's  patience,  he  told  how  all  day  long  he  had 
been  followed  by  certain  horsemen  from  Rome,  who  assuredly 
were  sent  to  track  him.  His  servant,  he  added,  was  watching 
for  their  entrance  into  the  town,  and  would  observe  where 
they  lodged.  This,  the  bishop  admitted,  was  a  matter  of 
some  gravity. 

'Your  guard  is  ready,'  he  said.  'Six  stout  fellows  on  good 
horses.  But  these  pursuers  outman  you.  Let  me  think,  let 
me  think.' 

Marcian  had  but  to  suggest  his  scheme.  This  was,  to 
resume  his  journey  as  soon  as  the  townsfolk  were  all  asleep, 
and  travel  through  the  night,  for  there  was  a  moon  all  but  at 
the  full.  He  might  thus  gain  so  much  advance  of  his  pur- 
suers that  they  would  not  be  able  to  overtake  him  before  he 
came  to  the  nearest  outpost  of  the  Gothic  army.  After 
reflection,  the  bishop  gave  his  approval  to  this  project,  and 
undertook  that  all  should  be  ready  at  the  fitting  hour.  He 
himself-would  accompany  them  to  the  gate  of  the  town,  and 
§ee  them  safely  on  their  way.  To  make  surer,  Marcian  used 


THE   PRISONER  OF  PRAENESTE2I5 

another  device.  When  he  had  learned  the  quarters  of  the 
pursuing  horsemen  he  sent  Sagaris  privily  to  speak  with 
their  leader,  warning  him  to  be  ready  to  ride  at  daybreak. 
Such  a  message  had  of  course  nothing  unexpected  for  its 
recipient,  who  looked  upon  Marcian  as  secretly  serving 
Pelagius.  It  put  his  mind  at  ease  and  released  him  from 
the  necessity  of  keeping  a  night  watch.  Sagaris,  totally 
ignorant  of  his  master's  mission,  and  of  the  plans  that  had 
just  been  formed,  imagined  himself  an  intermediary  in  some 
plot  between  Marcian  and  the  leader  of  the  horsemen,  and 
performed  the  deceitful  office  in  all  good  faith. 

The  bishop  and  his  guest  sat  down  to  supper  in  an 
ancient  room,  of  which  the  floor  was  a  mosaic  representing 
an  Egyptian  landscape,  with  a  multitude  of  figures.  Marcian 
would  gladly  have  asked  questions  about  Veranilda;  how 
long  she  had  been  at  Praeneste,  whether  the  lady  Aurelia 
was  in  the  same  convent,  and  many  other  things  ;  but  he  did 
not  venture  to  make  known  how  little  he  had  enjoyed  of 
Leander's  confidence.  His  reverend  host  spoke  not  at  all 
on  this  subject,  which  evidently  had  no  interest  for  him,  but 
abounded  in  inquiries  as  to  the  state  of  things  ecclesiastical 
at  Rome.  The  supper  was  excellent ;  it  pained  the  good 
prelate  that  his  guest  seemed  to  have  so  poor  an  appetite. 
He  vaunted  the  quality  of  everything  on  the  table,  and  was 
especially  enthusiastic  about  a  wine  of  the  south,  very 
aromatic,  which  had  come  to  him  as  a  present  from  his 
friend  the  Bishop  of  Rhegium,  together  with  a  certain  cheese 
of  Sila,  exquisite  in  thymy  savour,  whereof  he  ate  with 
prodigious  gusto. 

It  was  about  the  third  hour  of  the  night  when  Sagaris,  to 
his  astonishment,  was  aroused  from  a  first  sleep,  and  bidden 
prepare  at  once  for  travel.  Following  his  master  and  the 
bishop,  who  were  not  otherwise  attended,  he  passed  through 
a  garden  to  a  postern,  where,  by  dim  lantern  light,  he  saw, 
in  the  street  without,  a  small  covered  carriage  drawn  by  four 
mules,  and  behind  it  several  men  on  horseback;  his 
master's  horse  and  his  own  were  also  in  readiness  at  the 


216  VERANILDA 

door.  He  mounted,  the  carriage  moved  forward ;  and  by  a 
steep  descent  which  needed  extreme  caution,  the  gate  of  the 
city  was  soon  reached.  Here  the  bishop,  who  had  walked 
beside  Marcian,  spoke  a  word  with  two  drowsy  watchmen 
sitting  by  the  open  gateway,  bade  his  guest  an  affectionate 
farewell,  and  stood  watching  for  a  few  minutes  whilst  vehicle 
and  riders  moved  away  in  the  moonlight. 

Finding  himself  well  sped  from  Praeneste,  where  his 
pursuers  lay  sound  asleep,  Marcian  felt  an  extravagant  joy ; 
he  could  scarce  command  himself  to  speak  a  few  necessary 
words,  in  an  ordinary  tone,  to  the  leader  of  the  guard  with 
which  he  was  provided ;  to  shout,  to  sing,  would  have  better 
suited  his  mood.  Why  he  thrilled  with  such  exultancy  he 
could  not  have  truly  said  ;  but  a  weight  seemed  to  be  lifted 
from  his  mind,  and  he  told  himself  that  the  relief  was  due 
to  knowing  that  he  had  done  with  treachery,  done  with 
double-dealing,  done  with  the  shame  and  the  peril  of  such  a 
life  as  he  had  led  for  years.  Never  could  he  return  to 
Rome  save  with  the  Gothic  King;  in  beguiling  Pelagius, 
he  had  thrown  in  his  lot  irrevocably  with  the  enemies  of  the 
Greeks.  Now  he  would  play  the  part  of  an  honest  man ; 
his  heart  throbbed  at  the  thought. 

But  all  this  time  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  closed  vehicle, 
behind  which  he  rode;  and  was  it  indeed  the  thought  of 
having  gained  freedom  which  made  his  heart  so  strangely 
beat?  He  pushed  his  horse  as  near  as  possible  to  the 
carriage  ;  he  rode  beside  it ;  he  stretched  out  his  hand  and 
touched  it.  As  soon  as  the  nature  of  the  road  permitted,  he 
gave  an  order  to  make  better  speed,  and  his  horse  began  to 
trot ;  he  thought  less  of  the  danger  from  which  he  was  fleeing 
than  of  the  place  of  rest  where  Veranilda  would  step  down 
from  the  carriage,  and  he  would  look  upon  her  face. 

Under  the  great  white  moon,  the  valley  into  which  they 
were  descending  lay  revealed  in  every  feature,  and  the  road 
itself  was  as  well  illumined  as  by  daylight.  On  they  sped,  as 
fast  as  the  mules  could  be  driven.  Near  or  far  sounded 
from  time  to  time  the  howl  of  a  wolf,  answered  by  the  fierce 


THE  PRISONER  OF  PRAENESTEaiy 

bark  of  dogs  in  some  farm  or  village ;  the  hooting  of  owls 
broke  upon  the  stillness,  or  the  pipe  of  toads  from  a  marshy 
hollow.  By  the  wayside  would  be  seen  moving  stealthily  a 
dark  form,  which  the  travellers  knew  to  be  a  bear,  but  they 
met  no  human  being,  nor  anywhere  saw  the  gleam  of  a  light 
in  human  habitation.  Coming  within  view  of  some  temple 
of  the  old  religion,  all  crossed  themselves  and  murmured  a 
prayer,  for  this  was  the  hour  when  the  dethroned  demons 
had  power  over  the  bodies  and  the  souls  of  men. 

After  a  long  descent  they  struck  into  the  Via  Latina,  still 
in  spite  of  long  neglect  almost  as  good  a  road  as  when  the 
legions  marched  over  its  wheel-furrowed  stones.  If  the 
information  on  which  Leander  had  calculated  was  correct, 
some  three  days'  journey  by  this  way  would  bring  them 
within  reach  of  the  Gothic  king;  but  Marcian  was  now 
debating  with  himself  at  what  point  he  should  quit  the  high 
road,  so  as  to  make  certain  his  escape,  in  case  the  Greek 
horsemen  began  a  chase  early  on  the  morrow.  To  the  left 
lay  a  mountainous  region,  with  byways  and  little  ancient 
towns,  in  old  time  the  country  of  the  Hernici ;  beyond,  a 
journey  of  two  good  days,  flowed  the  river  Liris,  and  there, 
not  far  from  the  town  of  Arpinum,  was  Marcian's  ancestral 
villa.  Of  this  he  thought,  as  his  horse  trotted  beside  or 
behind  the  carriage.  It  was  much  out  of  his  way;  surely 
there  would  be  no  need  to  go  so  far  in  order  to  baffle  pur- 
suers. Yet  still  he  thought  of  his  villa,  islanded  in  the 
Liris,  and  seemed  to  hear  through  the  night  the  music  of 
tumbling  waters,  and  said  within  his  heart,  '  Could  I  not 
there  lie  safe  ? ' 

Safe  ? — from  the  Greeks,  that  is  to  say,  if  they  persistently 
searched  for  him.  Safe,  until  a  messenger  could  reach 
Totila,  and  let  him  know  that  Veranilda  was  rescued. 

An  hour  after  midnight,  one  of  the  mules'  traces  broke. 
In  the  silence  of  the  stoppage,  whilst  the  driver  was  mending 
the  harness  as  best  he  could,  Marcian  alighted,  stepped  to 
the  side  of  the  vehicle,  laid  a  hand  on  the  curtain  which  con- 
cealed those  within,  and  spoke  in  a  subdued  voice. 


2i8  VERANILDA 

'  Is  all  well  with  you,  lady  ? ' 

'As  well,'  came  the  answer,  'as  it  can  be  with  one  who 
dreads  her  unknown  fate.' 

The  soft  accents  made  Marcian  tremble.  He  expected  to 
hear  a  sweet  voice,  but  this  was  sweeter  far  than  he  could 
have  imagined :  its  gentleness,  its  sadness,  utterly  overcame 
him,  so  that  he  all  but  wept  in  his  anguish  of  delight. 

'Have  no  fear,'  he  whispered  eagerly.  'It  is  freedom 
that  awaits  you.  I  am  Marcian — Marcian,  the  friend  of 
Basil.' 

There  sounded  a  low  cry  of  joy ;  then  the  two  names 
were  repeated,  his  and  that  of  his  friend,  and  again  Marcian 
quivered. 

'  You  will  be  no  more  afraid  ? '  he  said,  as  though  laugh- 
ingly. 

'  Oh  no !     The  Blessed  Virgin  be  thanked ! ' 

An  owl's  long  hoot  wailed  through  the  stillness,  seeming 
to  fill  with  its  infinite  melancholy  the  great  vault  of  moon- 
lit heaven.  In  Marcian  it  produced  a  sudden,  unaccount- 
able fear.  Leaping  on  to  his  horse,  he  cursed  the  driver 
for  slowness.  Another  minute,  and  they  were  speeding 
onward. 

Marcian  watched  anxiously  the  course  of  the  silver  orb 
above  them.  When  it  began  to  descend  seaward,  the  animals 
were  showing  signs  of  weariness ;  before  daybreak  he  must 
perforce  call  a  halt.  In  conversation  with  the  leader  of  his 
guard,  he  told  the  reason  of  their  hasting  on  by  night  (known 
already  to  the  horseman,  a  trusted  follower  of  the  Bishop  of 
Praeneste),  and  at  length  announced  his  resolve  to  turn  off 
the  Latin  Way  into  the  mountains,  with  the  view  of  gaining 
the  little  town  Aletrium,  whence,  he  explained,  they  could 
cross  the  hills  to  the  valley  of  the  Liris,  and  so  descend 
again  to  the  main  road.  It  was  the  man's  business  to  obey ; 
he  let  fall  a  few  words,  however,  concerning  the  dangers  of 
the  track;  it  was  well  known  that  bands  of  marauders 
frequented  this  country,  moving  onward  before  the  slow 
advance  of  the  Gothic  troops.  Marcian  reflected,  but  none 


THE   PRISONER  OF  PRAENESTE219 

the  less  held  to  his  scheme.  The  beasts  were  urged  along  an 
upward  way,  which,  just  about  the  setting  of  the  moon, 
brought  them  to  a  poor  village  with  a  little  church.  Marcian 
set  himself  to  discover  the  priest,  and,  when  this  good  man 
was  roused  from  slumber,  spoke  in  his  ear  a  word  which  had 
great  effect.  With  little  delay  stabling  was  found,  and  a 
place  of  repose  for  Marcian's  followers ;  he  himself  would 
rest  under  the  priest's  roof,  whither  he  conducted  Veranilda 
and  a  woman  servant  who  sat  with  her  in  the  carriage. 
The  face  which  was  so  troubling  his  imagination  he  did 
not  yet  see,  for  Veranilda  kept  the  hood  close  about  her 
as  she  passed  by  candle  light  up  steps  to  the  comfort- 
less and  dirty  little  chamber  which  was  the  best  she  could 
have. 

'Rest  in  peace,'  whispered  Marcian  as  the  door  closed. 
'  I  guard  you.' 

For  an  hour  or  more  he  sat  talking  with  his  host  over  a 
pitcher  of  wine,  found  how  far  he  was  from  Aletrium,  and 
heard  with  satisfaction  that  the  brigand  bands  seemed  to 
have  gone  higher  into  the  mountains.  The  presbyter  asked 
eagerly  for  Roman  news,  and  cautiously  concerning  King 
Totila,  whom  it  was  evident  he  regarded  with  no  very 
hostile  feeling.  As  the  day  broke  he  stretched  himself  on  his 
host's  bed,  there  being  no  other  for  him,  and  there  dozed 
for  two  or  three  hours,  far  too  agitated  to  enjoy  a  sound 
sleep. 

When  he  arose,  he  went  forth  into  the  already  hot  sun- 
shine, looked  at  the  poor  peasants'  cottages,  and  talked  with 
Sagaris,  whose  half-smiling  face  seemed  anxious  to  declare 
that  he  knew  perfectly  well  on  what  business  they  were 
engaged.  At  this  hour,  in  all  probability,  the  horsemen  of 
Pelagius  were  galloping  along  the  Latin  Way,  in  hope  of 
overtaking  the  fugitives.  It  seemed  little  likely  that  they 
would  search  in  this  direction,  and  the  chances  were  that 
they  would  turn  back  when  their  horses  got  tired  out.  Of 
them,  indeed,  Marcian  thought  but  carelessly;  his  hard-set 
brows  betokened  another  subject  of  disquiet.  Should  he, 


220  VERANILDA 

after  Aletrium,  go  down  again  to  the  Latin  Way,  or  should  he 
push  a  few  miles  further  to  the  valley  of  the  Liris,  and  to  his 
own  villa  ? 

To-day,  being  the  first  day  of  the  week,  there  was  a  gather- 
ing to  hear  mass.  Marcian,  though  he  had  that  in  his 
mind  which  little  accorded  with  religious  worship,  felt  him- 
self drawn  to  the  little  church,  and  knelt  among  the  toil-worn 
folk.  Here,  as  always  when  he  heard  the  liturgy,  his  heart 
melted,  his  soul  was  overcome  with  awe.  From  earliest 
childhood  he  had  cherished  a  peculiar  love  and  reverence 
for  the  Eucharistic  prayer,  which  was  associated  with  his 
noblest  feelings,  his  purest  aspirations.  As  he  heard  it  now, 
here  amid  the  solitude  of  the  hills,  it  brought  him  help  such 
as  he  needed. 

'  Vere  dignum  et  justum  est,  aequum  et  salutare,  nos  tibi 
semper  et  ubique  gratias  agere,  Domine  sancte,  Pater  omni- 
potens,  aeterne  Deus.' 

When  at  the  end  he  rose,  these  words  were  still  resonant 
within  him.  He  turned  to  go  forth,  and  there  behind,  also 
just  risen  from  her  knees,  stood  a  veiled  woman,  at  the  sight 
of  whom  he  thrilled  with  astonishment.  No  peasant  she; 
for  her  attire,  though  but  little  adorned,  told  of  refinement, 
and  the  grace  of  her  figure,  the  simple  dignity  of  her  attitude, 
would  alone  have  marked  her  out  among  the  girls  and 
women  who  were  leaving  the  church,  their  eyes  all  turned 
upon  her  and  on  the  female  attendant  standing  respectfully 
near.  Through  the  veil  which  covered  her  face  and  hung 
about  her  shoulders,  Marcian  could  dimly  discern  lips  and 
eyebrows. 

'  Lord  Marcian,  may  I  speak  with  you  ? ' 

It  was  the  voice  of  last  night,  and  again  it  shook  him  with 
an  ecstasy  which  had  more  of  dread  than  of  joy. 

'  You  here  ? '  he  replied,  speaking  very  low.  '  You  have 
heard  the  mass  ? ' 

'  I  am  a  Catholic.     My  religion  is  that  of  Basil.' 

'  God  be  thanked ! '  broke  from  Marcian.  And  his  ex- 
clamation meant  more  than  it  conveyed  to  the  listener. 


THE  PRISONER  OF  PRAENESTE22I 

'  May  you  tell  me  whither  we  are  going  ? '  was  the  next 
question  from  the  veiled  lips. 

The  church  was  now  empty,  but  in  the  doorway  appeared 
faces  curiously  peering.  Marcian  looking  in  that  direction 
seemed  for  a  moment  to  find  no  reply ;  his  lips  were  parted, 
and  his  breath  came  rapidly ;  then  he  whispered  : 

'  Not  far  from  here  there  is  a  villa.  There  you  shall  rest 
in  safety  until  Basil  comes.' 

1  He  is  near  ? ' 

'  Already  I  have  summoned  him.' 

*  O  kind  Marcian ! '  uttered  the  low,  sweet  voice.  '  Oh, 
true  and  brave  friend  ! ' 

In  silence  they  walked  together  to  the  priest's  house. 
Marcian  had  now  put  off  all  irresolution.  He  gave  orders 
to  his  guard ;  as  soon  as  the  horses  had  sufficiently  rested, 
they  would  push  on  for  Aletrium,  and  there  pass  the  night. 
The  start  was  made  some  two  hours  after  noon.  Riding 
once  more  beside  the  carriage,  Marcian  felt  his  heart  light : 
passions  and  fears  were  all  forgotten ;  the  sun  flaming  amid 
the  pale  blue  sky,  the  violet  shadows  of  the  mountains,  the 
voice  of  cicadas  made  rapture  to  his  senses.  It  was  as 
though  Veranilda's  beauty,  not  even  yet  beheld,  rayed  some- 
thing of  itself  upon  all  the  visible  world.  Never  had  a 
summer's  day  shone  so  gloriously  for  him;  never  had  he 
so  marked  the  hues  of  height  and  hollow,  the  shape  of  hills, 
the  winding  of  a  stream.  Where  an  ascent  made  the  pace 
slow,  he  alighted,  walked  by  the  vehicle,  and  exchanged  a 
few  words  with  her  who  sat  behind  the  curtain. 

At  length  Aletrium  came  in  view,  a  little  town  in  a  strong 
position  on  the  mountain  side,  its  walls  and  citadel  built 
in  old  time,  long  unused  for  defence,  but  resisting  ages  with 
their  cyclopean  force.  On  arriving,  they  found  a  scene  of 
disorder,  misery  and  fear.  This  morning  the  place  had  been 
attacked  by  a  brigand  horde,  which  had  ravaged  at  will: 
the  church  was  robbed  of  its  sacred  vessels,  the  beasts  of 
burden  were  driven  away,  and,  worst  of  all,  wives  and 
daughters  of  the  defenceless  townsmen  had  suffered  outrage. 


222  VERANILDA 

Marcian,  with  that  air  of  authority  which  he  well  knew  how 
to  assume,  commanded  the  attendance  of  the  leading  citizens 
and  spoke  with  them  in  private.  Finding  them  eager  for  the 
arrival  of  the  Goths,  to  whom  they  looked  rather  than  to 
the  distant  Greeks  for  protection  against  ruinous  disorder 
(already  they  had  despatched  messengers  to  Totila  entreating 
his  aid),  he  made  known  to  them  that  he  was  travelling  to 
meet  the  Gothic  outposts,  and  promised  to  hasten  the  king's 
advance.  At  present,  there  seemed  to  be  no  more  danger, 
the  marauders  having  gone  on  into  the  Apennines;  so  Marcian 
obtained  lodging  for  Veranilda  and  for  himself  in  the  priest's 
house.  Only  when  he  was  alone  did  he  reflect  upon  the 
narrowness  of  his  escape  from  those  fierce  plunderers,  and 
horror  shook  him.  There  remained  but  half  a  day's  journey 
to  his  villa.  He  was  so  impatient  to  arrive  there,  and  to 
dismiss  the  horsemen,  that  though  utterly  wearied,  he  lay 
awake  through  many  hours  of  darkness,  hearing  the  foot- 
steps of  men  who  patrolled  the  streets,  and  listening  with 
anxious  ear  for  any  sound  of  warning. 

He  rose  in  the  twilight,  and  again  held  conference  with 
those  of  the  townsmen  who  were  stoutest  in  the  Gothic 
cause.  To  them  he  announced  that  he  should  travel  this 
day  as  far  as  Arpinum  (whither  he  was  conducting  a  lady  who 
desired  to  enter  a  convent  hard  by  that  city),  and  thence 
should  proceed  in  search  of  Totila,  for  whom,  he  assured  his 
hearers,  he  carried  letters  of  summons  from  the  leading 
churchmen  at  Rome.  This  news  greatly  cheered  the  un- 
happy Aletrians,  who  had  been  troubled  by  the  thought 
that  the  Goths  were  heretics.  If  Roman  ecclesiastics  closed 
their  eyes  to  this  obstacle,  the  inhabitants  of  a  little  moun- 
tain town  evidently  need  nurse  no  scruples  in  welcoming  the 
conqueror.  With  acclamations  and  good  wishes,  the  crowd 
saw  Marcian  and  his  train  set  forth  along  the  road  over  the 
hills ;  before  the  sun  had  shed  its  first  beam  into  the  west- 
ward valley,  they  had  lost  sight  of  Aletrium. 

Not  a  word  of  the  perils  escaped  had  been  allowed  to 
reach  Veranilda's  ear ;  exhausted  by  her  journeying  and  her 


THE  PRISONER  OF  PRAENESTE223 

emotions,  she  had  slept  soundly  through  the  whole  night,  and 
this  morning,  when  Martian  told  her  how  near  was  their 
destination,  she  laughed  light-heartedly  as  a  child.  But  not 
yet  had  he  looked  upon  her  countenance.  At  Aletrium  he 
might  have  done  so  had  he  willed,  but  he  withheld  himself 
as  if  from  a  dread  temptation. 

Never  had  he  known  such  tremours  of  cowardliness  as  on 
this  ride  over  the  hills.  He  strained  his  eyes  in  every  direc- 
tion, and  constantly  imagined  an  enemy  where  there  was 
none.  The  brigands,  as  he  found  by  inquiry  of  labouring 
peasants,  had  not  even  passed  this  way.  He  would  not  halt, 
though  the  heat  of  the  sun  grew  terrible.  At  length,  when 
exhaustion  threatened  men  and  beasts,  they  surmounted  a 
ridge,  issued  from  a  forest  of  chestnut-trees,  and  all  at 
once,  but  a  little  way  below  them,  saw  the  gleam  of  the  river 
Liris. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  ISLAND  IN  THE  LIRIS 

NOT  yet  the  '  taciturnus  amnis,'  which  it  becomes  in  the 
broad,  seaward  valley  far  below,  the  Liris  at  this  point  parts 
into  two  streams,  enclosing  a  spacious  island,  and  on  either  side 
of  the  island  leaps  with  sound  and  foam,  a  river  kindred  to 
the  mountains  which  feed  its  flood.  Between  the  two  cataracts, 
linked  to  the  river  banks  with  great  arched  bridges,  stood 
Marcian's  villa.  Never  more  than  a  modest  country  house, 
during  the  last  fifty  years  an  almost  total  neglect  had  made  of 
the  greater  part  an  uninhabitable  ruin.  A  score  of  slaves  and 
peasants  looked  after  what  remained  of  the  dwelling  and 
cultivated  the  land  attached  to  it,  garden,  oliveyard,  vineyard, 
partly  on  the  island,  partly  beyond  the  river  in  the  direction 
of  Arpinum,  which  historic  city,  now  but  sparsely  peopled, 
showed  on  the  hillside  a  few  miles  away.  Excepting  his  house 
in  Rome,  this  was  all  the  property  that  Marcian  possessed. 
It  was  dear  to  him  because  of  the  memories  of  his  childhood, 
and  for  another  reason  which  sprang  out  of  the  depths  of  his 
being :  on  the  night  after  his  mother's  death  (he  was  then  a 
boy  much  given  to  seeing  visions)  her  spirit  appeared  to  him, 
and  foretold  that  he  too  should  die  in  this  house  '  at  peace 
with  God.'  This  phrase,  on  which  he  had  often  brooded, 
Marcian  understood  to  mean  that  he  should  reach  old  age ; 
and  it  had  long  been  his  settled  intention  to  found  in  the 
ruinous  villa  a  little  monastery,  to  which,  when  his  work  was 
over,  he  could  retire  to  pass  the  close  of  life.  And  now, 
as  he  rode  down  behind  the  carriage,  he  was  striving  to  keep 
his  thought  fixed  on  this  pious  purpose.  He  resolved  that  he 


THE   ISLAND   IN   THE  LIRIS    225 

would  not  long  delay.  As  soon  as  Veranilda  was  safe,  he 
would  go  on  foot,  as  a  pilgrim,  to  the  monastery  at  Casinum, 
which  were  but  two  or  three  days'  journey,  and  speak  of  his 
intention  to  the  aged  and  most  holy  Benedict.  Thus  forti- 
fied, he  rode  with  bright  visage  down  into  the  valley,  and  over 
the  bridge,  and  so  to  his  own  gate. 

The  steward  and  the  housekeeper,  who  were  man  and  wife, 
speedily  stood  before  him,  and  he  bade  them  make  ready  with 
all  expedition  certain  chambers  long  unoccupied,  merely  say- 
ing that  a  lady  would  for  some  days  be  his  guest.  Whilst 
Sagaris  guided  the  horsemen  to  the  stables,  and  received 
them  hospitably  in  the  servants'  quarter,  Marcian,  using  a 
more  formal  courtesy  than  hitherto,  conducted  his  charge  into 
the  great  hall,  and  begged  her  to  be  seated  for  a  few  minutes, 
until  her  room  was  prepared.  Seeing  that  fatigue  scarce 
suffered  her  to  reply,  he  at  once  withdrew,  leaving  her  alone 
with  her  handmaiden.  And  yet  he  had  not  beheld  Veran- 
ilda's  face. 

Himself  unable  to  take  repose,  he  strayed  about  the  purlieus 
of  the  villa,  in  his  ears  the  sound  of  rushing  water,  before  his 
eyes  a  flitting  vision  which  he  would  not  see.  He  had  heard 
from  his  steward  the  latest  news  of  the  countryside ;  it  was 
said  in  Arpinum  that  the  Gothic  forces  were  at  length  assem- 
bled for  the  march  on  Rome ;  at  Aquinum  Totila  would  be 
welcomed,  and  what  resistance  was  he  likely  to  meet  with  all 
along  the  Latin  Way?  When  the  horsemen  had  refreshed 
themselves,  Marcian  summoned  the  leader ;  their  services,  he 
said,  would  no  longer  be  necessary ;  he  bade  them  depart  as 
early  as  might  be  on  the  morrow,  and  bear  with  all  speed  to 
their  lord  the  bishop  an  important  letter  which  he  forthwith 
wrote  and  gave  to  the  man,  together  with  a  generous  guerdon. 
This  business  despatched,  he  again  wandered  hither  and 
thither,  incapable  of  rest,  incapable  of  clear  thought,  fever  in 
his  heart  and  in  his  brain. 

As  the  sun  sank,  fear  once  more  beset  him.  This  house 
lay  open  on  all  sides,  its  only  protection  being  a  couple  of 
dogs,  which  prowled  at  large.  He  thought  with  dread  of  the 

P 


226  VERANILDA 

possibility  of  a  brigand  attack.  But  when  night  had  fallen, 
when  all  lights  except  his  own  were  extinguished,  when  no 
sound  struck  against  the  deep  monotone  of  the  cataracts,  this 
emotion  yielded  before  another,  which  no  less  harassed  his 
mind.  In  the  hall,  in  the  corridors,  in  the  garden-court,  he 
paced  ceaselessly,  at  times  walking  in  utter  darkness,  for  not 
yet  had  the  moon  risen.  When  at  length  its  rays  fell  upon 
the  pillars  of  the  upper  gallery  where  Veranilda  slept,  he  stood 
looking  towards  her  chamber,  and  turned  away  at  length  with 
a  wild  gesture,  like  that  of  a  demoniac  in  torment. 

The  man  was  torn  between  spiritual  fervour  and  passions 
of  the  flesh.  With  his  aspiration  to  saintliness  blended  that 
love  of  his  friend  which  was  the  purest  affection  he  had  known 
in  all  the  years  of  manhood ;  yet  this  very  love  became,  through 
evil  thoughts,  an  instrument  against  him,  being  sullied,  poi- 
soned by  the  basest  spirit  of  jealousy,  until  it  seemed  all  but 
to  have  turned  to  hate.  One  moment  he  felt  himself  capable 
of  acting  nobly,  even  as  he  had  resolved  when  at  mass  in  the 
little  mountain  church ;  his  bosom  glowed  with  the  defiance 
of  every  risk;  he  would  guard  Veranilda  secretly  until  he 
could  lay  her  hand  in  that  of  Basil.  The  next,  he  saw  only 
danger,  impossibility,  in  such  a  purpose,  and  was  anxious  to 
deliver  the  beautiful  maiden  to  the  king  of  her  own  race  as 
soon  as  might  be — lest  worse  befell.  Thus  did  he  strive 
with  himself,  thus  was  he  racked  and  rent  under  the  glowing 
moon. 

At  dawn  he  slept.  When  he  rose  the  horsemen  had  long 
since  set  forth  on  their  journey  home.  He  inquired  which 
road  they  had  taken.  But  to  this  no  one  had  paid  heed ;  he 
could  only  learn  that  they  had  crossed  the  river  by  the  west- 
ward bridge,  and  so  perhaps  had  gone  back  by  way  of 
Aletrium,  instead  of  descending  the  valley  to  the  Latin  Way. 
Even  yet  Marcian  did  not  feel  quite  safe  from  his  Greek 
pursuers  He  feared  a  meeting  between  them  and  the  Praer 
nestines. 

Having  bathed  (a  luxury  after  waterless  Rome),  and  eaten 
a  morsel  of  bread  with  a  draught  of  his  own  wine,  he  called 


THE   ISLAND   IN   THE  LIRIS    227 

his  housekeeper,  and  bade  her  make  known  to  the  lady,  his 
guest,  that  he  begged  permission  to  wait  upon  her.  With  but 
a  few  minutes'  delay  Veranilda  descended  to  the  room  which 
lay  behind  the  atrium.  Marcian,  loitering  among  the  ivied 
plane-trees  without,  was  told  of  her  coming,  and  at  once 
entered. 

She  was  alone,  standing  at  the  back  of  the  room  ;  her  hands 
hanging  linked  before  her,  the  lower  part  of  the  arms  white 
against  the  folds  of  a  russet-coloured  tunic.  And  Marcian 
beheld  her  face. 

He  took  a  few  rapid  steps  toward  her,  checked  himself, 
bowed  profoundly,  and  said  in  a  somewhat  abrupt  voice  : 

'  Gracious  lady,  is  it  by  your  own  wish  that  you  are  un- 
attended ?  Or  have  my  women,  by  long  disuse,  so  forgotten 
their  duties ' 

Veranilda  interrupted  him. 

'I  assure  you  it  was  my  own  wish,  lord  Marcian.  We 
must  speak  of  things  which  are  not  for  others'  hearing.' 

In  the  same  unnatural  voice,  as  though  he  put  constraint 
upon  himself  for  the  performance  of  a  disagreeable  duty,  he 
begged  her  to  be  seated,  and  Veranilda,  not  without  betraying 
a  slight  trouble  of  surprise,  took  the  chair  to  which  he  pointed. 
But  he  himself  did  not  sit  down.  In  the  middle  of  the  room 
stood  a  great  bronze  candelabrum,  many-branched  for  the 
suspension  of  lamps,  at  its  base  three  figures,  Pluto,  Neptune, 
and  Proserpine.  It  was  the  only  work  of  any  value  which 
the  villa  now  contained,  and  Marcian  associated  it  with  the 
memories  of  his  earliest  years.  As  a  little  child  he  had  often 
gazed  at  those  three  faces,  awed  by  their  noble  gravity,  and, 
with  a  child's  diffidence,  he  had  never  ventured  to  ask  what 
beings  these  were.  He  fixed  his  eyes  upon  them  now,  to 
avoid  looking  at  Veranilda.  She,  timidly  glancing  at  him, 
said  in  her  soft,  low  voice,  with  the  simplest  sincerity: 

'  I  have  not  yet  found  words  in  which  to  thank  you,  lord 
Marcian.' 

'  My  thanks  are  due  to  you,  dear  lady,  for  gracing  this 
poor  house  with  your  presence.' 


228  VERANILDA 

His  tone  was  more  suavely  courteous.  For  an  instant  he 
looked  at  her,  and  his  lips  set  themselves  in  something  meant 
for  a  smile. 

'  This  is  the  end  of  our  journey  ? '  she  asked. 

'For  some  days — if  the  place  does  not  displease  you.' 

'  How  could  I  be  ill  at  ease  in  the  house  of  Basil's  friend, 
and  with  the  promise  that  Basil  will  soon  come?' 

Marcian  stared  at  the  face  of  Proserpine,  who  seemed  to 
regard  him  with  solemn  thoughtful  ness. 

'  Had  you  any  forewarning  of  your  release  from  the  monas- 
tery ?'  he  asked  of  a  sudden. 

'  None.     None  whatever.' 

'You  thought  you  would  remain  there  for  long  to 
come  ? ' 

'  I  had  not  dared  to  think  of  that.' 

Marcian  took  a  few  paces,  glanced  at  the  sweet  face,  the 
beautiful  head  with  its  long  golden  hair,  and  came  back  to 
his  place  by  the  candelabrum,  on  which  he  rested  a  trembling 
band. 

1  Had  they  spoken  of  making  you  a  nun  ? ' 

A  look  of  dread  came  upon  her  countenance,  and  she 
whispered,  '  Once  or  twice.' 

'You  would  never  have  consented?' 

'  Only  if  I  had  known  that  release  was  hopeless,  or  that 
Basil ' 

Her  voice  failed. 

'That  Basil ? '  echoed  Marcian's  lips,  in  an  undertone. 

'  That  he  was  dead.' 

'  You  never  feared  that  he  might  have  forgotten  you  ? ' 

Again  his  accents  were  so  hard  that  Veranilda  gazed  at 
him  in  troubled  wonder. 

'  You  never  feared  that  ? '  he  added,  with  fugitive  eyes. 

'  Had  I  dreamt  of  it,'  she  replied,  '  I  think  I  should  not 
live.'  Then  in  a  voice  of  anxious  humility,  'Could  Basil 
forget  me  ? ' 

'  Indeed,  I  should  not  think  it  easy,'  murmured  the  other, 
his  eyes  cast  down.  'And  what,'  he  continued  abruptly, 


THE   ISLAND   IN   THE   LIRIS    229 

'  was  said  to  you  when  you  left  the  convent?    In  what  words 
did  they  take  leave  of  you  ? ' 

I  With  none  at  all.     I  was  bidden  prepare  for  a  journey, 
and  soon  after  they  led  me  to  the  gates.     I  knew  nothing, 
nor  did  the  woman  with  me.' 

*  Was  the  lady  Aurelia  in  the  same  convent  ? '  Marcian  next 
inquired. 

I 1  never  saw  her  after  we  had  landed  from  the  ship  which 
carried  us  from  Surrentum  ? ' 

'  You  do  not  know,  of  course,  that  Petronilla  is  dead  ? ' 

He  told  her  of  that,  and  of  other  events  such  as  would 
interest  her,  but  without  uttering  the  name  of  Basil.  Above 
all,  he  spoke  of  Totila,  lauding  the  victorious  king  who  would 
soon  complete  his  triumph  by  the  conquest  of  Rome. 

'  I  had  all  but  forgotten,'  were  Veranilda's  words,  when  she 
had  listened  anxiously.  '  I  thought  only  of  Basil.' 

He  turned  abruptly  from  her,  seemed  to  reflect  for  a 
moment,  and  said  with  formal  politeness : 

'  Permit  me  now  to  leave  you,  lady.  This  house  is  yours. 
I  would  it  offered  you  worthier  accommodation.  As  soon  as 
I  have  news,  I  will  again  come  before  you.' 

Veranilda  rose  whilst  he  was  speaking.  Her  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  him,  wistfully,  almost  pleadingly,  and  before  he 
had  reached  the  exit  she  advanced  a  step,  with  lips  parted  as 
if  to  beseech  his  delay.  But  he  walked  too  hurriedly,  and 
was  gone  ere  she  durst  utter  a  word. 

At  the  same  hurried  pace,  gazing  before  him  and  seeing 
nothing,  Marcian  left  the  villa,  and  walked  until  he  came  to 
the  river  side.  Here  was  a  jutting  rock  known  as  the 
Lover's  Leap;  story  told  of  a  noble  maiden,  frenzied  by  un- 
happy love,  who  had  cast  herself  into  the  roaring  waterfall. 
Long  he  stood  on  the  brink,  till  his  eyes  dazzled  from  the 
sun-stricken  foam.  His  mind  was  blasted  with  shame;  he 
could  not  hold  his  head  erect.  In  sorry  effort  to  recover 
self-respect  he  reasoned  inwardly  thus  : 

*  Where  Basil  may  be  I  know  not.    If  he  is  still  at  Asculum 
many  days  must  pass  before  a  summons  from  me  could  bring 


230  VERANILDA 

him  hither.  He  may  already  be  on  his  way  to  join  the  king, 
as  I  bade  him  in  my  last  message.  The  uncertainty,  the 
danger  of  this  situation,  can  be  met  only  in  one  way.  On 
leaving  Rome  I  saw  my  duty  plain  before  me.  A  desire 
to  pleasure  my  friend  made  me  waver,  but  I  was  wrong — if 
Basil  is  to  have  Veranilda  for  his  bride  he  can  only  receive 
her  from  the  hands  of  Totila.  Anything  else  would  mean 
peril  to  the  friend  I  love,  and  disrespect,  even  treachery,  to 
the  king  I  honour.  And  so  it  shall  be ;  I  will  torment  myself 
no  more.' 

He  hastened  back  into  the  villa,  summoned  Sagaris,  and 
bade  him  be  ready  in  half  an  hour  to  set  forth  on  a  journey 
of  a  day  or  two.  He  then  wrote  a  brief  letter  to  the  king  of 
the  Goths.  It  was  in  the  Gothic  tongue,  such  Gothic  as  a 
few  Romans  could  command  for  everyday  use.  Herein  he 
told  that  Veranilda,  intrusted  to  him  by  the  deacon  Leander 
to  be  conducted  to  the  king's  camp,  had  arrived  in  safety  at 
his  villa  by  Arpinum.  The  country  being  disturbed,  he  had 
thought  better  to  wait  here  with  his  charge  until  he  could 
learn  the  king's  pleasure,  which  he  begged  might  be  made 
known  to  him  as  soon  as  possible. 

'  This,'  he  said,  when  Sagaris  appeared  before  him  equipped 
for  travel,  'you  will  deliver  into  the  king's  own  hands.  At 
Aquinum  you  will  be  directed  to  his  camp,  which  cannot  be 
far  beyond.  Danger  there  is  none  between  here  and  there. 
Make  your  utmost  speed.' 

Many  were  the  confidential  missions  which  Sagaris  had 
discharged ;  yet,  looking  now  into  his  man's  face,  the  master 
was  troubled  by  a  sudden  misgiving.  The  state  of  his  own 
mind  disposed  him  to  see  peril  everywhere.  At  another 
time  he  would  not  have  noted  so  curiously  a  sort  of  gleam  in 
the  Syrian's  eye,  a  something  on  the  fellow's  cunning,  sensual 
lips,  which  might  mean  anything  or  nothing.  Did  Sagaris 
divine  who  the  veiled  lady  was  ?  From  the  bishop's  man  he 
could  not  have  learned  it,  they  themselves,  as  the  bishop  had 
assured  Marcian,  being  totally  ignorant  in  the  matter.  If  he 
guessed  the  truth,  as  was  likely  enough  after  all  the  talk  he 


THE   ISLAND   IN   THE  LIRIS    231 

had  heard  concerning  Veranilda,  was  it  a  danger?  Had 
Sagaris  any  motive  for  treachery  ? 

'  Listen,'  continued  Marcian,  in  a  tone  such  as  he  had 
never  before  used  with  his  servant,  a  tone  rather  of  entreaty 
than  of  command.  '  Upon  the  safe  and  swift  delivery  of  that 
letter  more  depends  than  you  can  imagine.  You  will  not 
lack  your  reward.  But  not  a  word  to  any  save  the  king. 
Should  any  one  else  question  you,  you  will  say  that  you  bear 
only  a  verbal  message,  and  that  you  come  direct  from  Rome.' 

1  My  lord  shall  be  obeyed,'  answered  the  slave,  '  though  I 
die  under  torture.' 

1  Of  that,'  said  Marcian,  with  a  forced  laugh,  '  you  need 
have  no  fear.  But,  hark  you ! '  He  hesitated,  again  searching 
the  man's  countenance.  '  You  might  chance  to  meet  some 
friend  of  mine  who  would  inquire  after  me.  No  matter  who 
it  be — were  it  even  the  lord  Basil — you  will  answer  in  the 
same  words,  saying  that  I  am  still  in  Rome.  You  understand 
me  ?  Were  it  even  lord  Basil  who  asked  ? ' 

1  It  shall  be  as  my  lord  commands,'  replied  the  slave,  his 
face  set  in  unctuous  solemnity. 

1  Go,  then.    Lose  not  a  moment.' 

Marcian  watched  him  ride  away  in  the  blaze  of  the  cloud- 
less sun.  The  man's  head  was  sheltered  with  a  broad-brimmed 
hat  of  the  lightest  felt,  and  his  horse's  with  a  cluster  of  vine- 
leaves.  He  rode  away  at  a  quick  trot,  the  while  dust  rising 
in  a  cloud  behind  him. 

And  Marcian  lived  through  the  day  he  knew  not  how.  It 
was  a  day  of  burning  sunshine,  of  heat  scarce  tolerable  even 
in  places  the  most  sheltered.  Clad  only  in  a  loose  tunic, 
bare-armed,  bare-footed,  he  lay  or  sauntered  wherever  shade 
was  dense,  as  far  as  possible  from  the  part  of  the  villa  conse- 
crated to  his  guest.  Hour  after  hour  crawled  by,  an  eternity 
of  distressful  idleness.  And,  even  while  wishing  for  the  day's 
end,  he  dreaded  the  coming  of  the  night. 

It  came;  the  silent,  lonely  night,  the  warm,  perfumed 
night,  the  season  of  fierce  temptations,  of  dreadful  oppor- 
tunity. Never  had  the  passionate  soul  of  Marcian  been  so 


232  VERANILDA 

manifestly  lured  by  the  Evil  One,  never  had  it  fought  so 
desperately  in  the  strength  of  religious  hopes  and  fears.  He 
knelt,  he  prayed,  his  voice  breaking  upon  the  stillness  with 
anguish  of  supplication.  Between  him  and  the  celestial 
vision  rose  that  face  which  he  had  at  length  beheld,  a  face 
only  the  more  provocative  of  sensual  rage  because  of  its 
sweet  purity,  its  flawless  truth.  Then  he  flung  himself  upon 
the  stones,  bruised  his  limbs,  lay  at  length  exhausted,  as  if 
lifeless. 

No  longer  could  he  strengthen  himself  by  the  thought  of 
loyalty  in  friendship ;  that  he  had  renounced.  Yet  he  strove 
to  think  of  Basil,  and,  in  doing  so,  knew  that  he  still  loved 
him.  For  Basil  he  would  do  anything,  suffer  anything,  lose 
anything ;  but  when  he  imaged  Basil  with  Veranilda,  at  once 
his  love  turned  to  spleen,  a  sullen  madness  possessed  him, 
he  hated  his  friend  to  the  death. 

By  his  own  order,  two  watchmen  stood  below  the  stairs 
which  led  to  Veranilda's  chamber.  Nigh  upon  midnight  he 
walked  in  that  direction,  walked  in  barefooted  stealth,  lis- 
tening for  a  movement,  a  voice.  Nearer  and  nearer  he 
approached,  till  he  saw  at  length  the  ray  of  a  lantern ;  but 
no  step,  no  murmur,  told  of  wakeful  guard.  Trembling  as 
though  with  cold,  though  sweat  streamed  over  his  body,  he 
strode  forward  ;  there,  propped  against  the  wall,  sat  the  two 
slaves  fast  asleep.  Marcian  glanced  at  the  stairs ;  his  face 
in  the  dim  lantern  light  was  that  of  a  devil.  All  of  a  sudden 
one  of  the  men  started,  and  opened  his  eyes.  Thereupon 
Marcian  caught  up  a  staff  that  lay  beside  them,  and  began  to 
belabour  them  both  with  savage  blows.  Fiercely,  frantically, 
he  plied  his  weapon,  until  the  delinquents,  who  had  fallen 
to  their  knees  before  him,  roared  for  mercy. 

'  Let  me  find  you  sleeping  again,'  he  said  in  a  low  voice, 
'  and  your  eyes  shall  be  burnt  out.' 

He  stole  away  into  the  darkness,  and  the  men  whispered 
to  each  other  that  he  had  gone  mad.  For  Marcian  was 
notably  humane  with  his  slaves,  never  having  been  known 
even  to  inflict  a  whipping.  Perhaps  they  were  even  more 


THE   ISLAND   IN  THE  LIRIS    233 

astonished  at  this  proof  that  their  master  seriously  guarded 
the  privacy  of  his  guest ;  last  night  they  had  slept  for  long 
hours  undisturbed,  and,  on  waking,  congratulated  each  other 
with  familiar  jests  on  having  done  just  what  was  expected  of 
them. 

The  morn  broke  dark  and  stormy.  Thunder-clouds 
purpled  before  the  rising  sun,  and  ere  mid-day  there  fell 
torrents  of  rain.  Heedless  of  the  sky,  Marcian  rode  forth 
this  morning;  rode  aimlessly  about  the  hills,  for  the  villa 
was  no  longer  endurable  to  him.  He  talked  awhile  with  a 
labouring  serf,  who  told  him  that  the  plague  had  broken  out 
in  Arpinum,  where,  during  the  last  week  or  two,  many  had 
died.  From  his  steward  he  had  already  heard  the  same  news, 
but  without  heeding  it ;  it  now  alarmed  him,  and  for  some 
hours  fear  had  a  wholesome  effect  upon  his  thoughts.  In 
the  coolness  following  upon  the  storm,  he  enjoyed  a  long, 
tranquil  sleep.  And  this  day  he  did  not  see  Veranilda. 

A  mile  or  two  down  the  valley  was  a  church,  built  by 
Marcian's  grandfather,  on  a  spot  where  he  had  been  saved 
from  great  peril ;  the  land  attached  to  it  supported  two 
priests  and  certain  acolytes,  together  with  a  little  colony  of 
serfs.  On  his  ride  this  morning  Marcian  had  passed  within 
view  of  the  church,  and  would  have  gone  thither  but  for  his 
rain-drenched  clothing.  Now,  during  the  second  night  of 
temptation,  he  resolved  to  visit  the  priests  as  soon  as  it  was 
day,  and  to  bring  one  of  them  back  with  him  to  the  villa,  to 
remain  as  long  as  Veranilda  should  be  there.  Firm  in  this 
purpose  he  rose  with  the  rising  sun,  called  for  his  horse, 
and  rode  to  the  bridge.  There,  looking  down  at  the  white 
cataract,  stood  Veranilda  and  her  attendant. 

He  alighted.  With  a  timid  smile  the  maiden  advanced  to 
meet  him. 

'  Abroad  so  early  ? '  were  his  first  words,  a  mere  tongue- 
found  phrase. 

'I  was  tempted  by  the  fresh  morning.  It  does  not  dis- 
please you,  lord  Marcian  ?  ' 

'  Nay,  I  am  glad.' 


234  VERANILDA 

'  It  is  so  long,'  continued  the  gentle  voice,  '  since  I  was 
free  to  walk  under  the  open  sky.' 

Marcian  forgot  that  his  gaze  was  fixed  upon  her,  forgot 
that  he  was  silent,  forgot  the  purpose  with  which  he  had 
ridden  forth. 

'  I  hoped  I  might  see  you  to-day,'  she  added.  '  You  hare 
yet  no  news  for  me  ? ' 

'  None.' 

The  blue  eyes  drooped  sadly. 

'To-morrow,  perhaps,'  she  murmured.  Then,  with  an 
effort  to  seem  cheerful,  as  if  ashamed  of  her  troubled  thought, 
1 1  had  listened  so  long  to  a  sound  of  falling  water  that  I 
could  not  resist  the  desire  to  see  it.  How  beautiful  it  is  ! ' 

Marcian  felt  surprise ;  he  himself  saw  the  cataract  as  an 
object  of  beauty,  but  had  seldom  heard  it  so  spoken  of,  and 
could  least  of  all  have  expected  such  words  on  the  lips  of  a 
woman,  dread  seeming  to  him  the  more  natural  impression. 

'That  on  the  other  side,'  he  said,  pointing  across  the 
island,  'is  more  beautiful  still.  And  there  is  shade,  whilst 
here  the  sun  grows  too  hot.  But  you  must  not  walk  so  far. 
My  horse  has  a  very  even  pace.  If  you  would  let  me  lift  you 
to  the  saddle ' 

'  Oh,  gladly ! '  she  answered,  with  a  little  laugh  of  pleasure. 

And  it  was  done.  For  a  moment  he  held  her,  for  a 
moment  felt  the  warmth  and  softness  of  her  flesh ;  then  she 
sat  sideways  upon  the  horse,  looking  down  at  Marcian  with 
startled  gaiety.  He  showed  her  how  to  hold  the  reins,  and 
the  horse  went  gently  forward. 

'It  makes  me  a  child  again,'  she  exclaimed.  'I  have 
never  ridden  since  I  was  a  little  girl,  when  my  father ' 

Her  voice  died  away  ;  her  look  was  averted,  and  Marcian, 
remembering  the  shame  that  mingled  with  her  memories, 
began  to  talk  of  other  things. 

By  a  path  that  circled  the  villa,  they  came  to  a  little  wood 
of  ilex,  which  shadowed  the  brink  of  the  larger  cataract. 
Marcian  had  bidden  Veranilda's  woman  follow  them,  but  as 
they  entered  the  wood,  his  companion  looking  eagerly  before 


THE   ISLAND   IN   THE  LIRIS    235 

her,  he  turned  and  made  a  gesture  of  dismissal,  which  the 
servant  at  once  obeyed.  In  the  shadiest  spot  which  offered 
a  view  of  the  plunging  river,  he  asked  Veranilda  if  she  would 
alight. 

'  Willingly,  I  would  spend  an  hour  here,'  she  replied. 
1  The  leafage  and  the  water  make  such  a  delightful  freshness. 

'  I  have  anticipated  your  thought,'  said  Marcian.  '  The 
woman  is  gone  to  bid  them  bring  seats.' 

Veranilda  glanced  back  in  surprise  and  saw  that  they  were 
alone.  She  thanked  him  winsomely,  and  then,  simply  as 
before,  accepted  his  help.  Again  Marcian  held  her  an 
instant,  her  slim,  light  body  trembling  when  he  set  her  down, 
as  if  from  a  burden  which  strained  his  utmost  force.  She 
stepped  forward  to  gaze  at  the  fall.  He,  with  an  exclamation 
of  alarm,  caught  her  hand  and  held  it. 

'  You  are  too  rash,'  he  said  in  a  thick  voice.  '  The  depth, 
the  roar  of  the  waters,  will  daze  you.' 

Against  his  burning  palm,  her  hand  was  cool  as  a  lily  leaf. 
He  did  not  release  it,  though  he  knew  that  his  peril  from  that 
maidenly  touch  was  greater  far  than  hers  from  the  gulf  before 
them.  Veranilda,  accepting  his  protection  with  the  thought- 
lessness of  a  child,  leaned  forward,  uttering  her  wonder  and 
her  admiration.  He,  the  while,  watched  her  lips,  fed  his 
eyes  upon  her  cheek,  her  neck,  the  golden  ripples  of  her  hair. 
At  length  she  gently  offered  to  draw  her  hand  away.  A 
frenzy  urged  him  to  resist,  but  madness  yielded  to  cunning, 
and  he  released  her. 

'  Of  course  Basil  has  been  here,'  she  was  saying. 

'  Never.' 

1  Never  ?  Oh,  the  joy  of  showing  him  this  when  he  comes ! 
Lord  Marcian,  you  do  not  think  it  will  be  long  ?  ' 

Her  eyes  seemed  as  though  they  would  read  in  the  depth 
of  his ;  again  the  look  of  troubled  wonder  rose  to  her  coun- 
tenance. 

1  It  will  not  be  more  than  a  few  days  ? '  she  added,  in  a 
timid  undertone,  scarce  audible  upon  the  water's  deeper 
note. 


236  VERANILDA 

1 1  fear  it  may  be  longer,'  replied  Marcian. 

He  heard  his  own  accents  as  those  of  another  man.  He, 
his  very  self,  willed  the  utterance  of  certain  words,  kind, 
hopeful,  honest ;  but  something  else  within  him  commanded 
his  tongue,  and,  ere  he  knew  it,  he  had  added : 

'  You  have  never  thought  that  Basil  might  forget  you  ? ' 

Veranilda  quivered  as  though  she  had  been  struck. 

'  Why  do  you  again  ask  me  that  question  ? '  she  said 
gently,  but  no  longer  timidly.  '  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so  ? 
Surely,'  her  voice  sank,  '  you  could  not  have  let  me  feel  so 
happy  if  Basil  were  dead  ? ' 

'  He  lives.' 

'Then  why  do  you  look  so  strangely  at  me?  Ah,  he  is 
a  prisoner  ? ' 

'  Not  so.     No  man's  liberty  is  less  in  danger.' 

She  clasped  her  hands  before  her.  'You  make  me  suffer. 
I  was  so  light  of  heart,  and  now — your  eyes,  your  silence. 
Oh,  speak,  lord  Marcian  ! ' 

'  I  have  hidden  the  truth  so  long  because  I  knew  not  how 
to  utter  it.  Veranilda,  Basil  is  false  to  you.' 

Her  hands  fell;  her  eyes  grew  wider  in  wonder.  She 
seemed  not  to  understand  what  she  had  heard,  and  to  be 
troubled  by  incomprehension  rather  than  by  a  shock  of  pain. 

'  False  to  me  ? '  she  murmured.     '  How  false  ? ' 

'  He  loves  another  woman,  and  for  her  sake  has  turned  to 
the  Greeks.' 

Still  Veranilda  gazed  wonderingly. 

'  Things  have  come  to  pass  of  which  you  know  nothing,' 
pursued  Marcian,  forcing  his  voice  to  a  subdued  evenness, 
a  sad  gravity.  '  Listen  whilst  I  tell  you  all.  Had  you 
remained  but  a  few  days  longer  at  Cumae,  you  would  have 
been  seized  by  the  Greeks  and  sent  to  Constantinople ;  for 
the  Emperor  Justinian  himself  had  given  this  command. 
You  came  to  Surrentum ;  you  plighted  troth  with  Basil ;  he 
would  have  wedded  you,  and — not  only  for  safety's  sake,  but 
because  he  wished  well  to  the  Goths — would  have  sought 
the  friendship  of  Totila.  But  you  were  carried  away ;  vainly 


THE   ISLAND   IN   THE  LIRIS     237 

we  searched  for  you ;  we  feared  you  had  been  delivered  to 
the  Greeks.  In  Rome,  Basil  was  tempted  by  a  woman, 
whom  he  had  loved  before  ever  he  saw  you,  a  woman 
beautiful,  but  evil  hearted,  her  name  Heliodora.  She  won 
him  back  to  her;  she  made  him  faithless  to  you  and  to  the 
cause  of  the  Goths.  Little  by  little,  I  learnt  how  far  he  had 
gone  in  treachery.  He  had  discovered  where  you  were,  but 
no  longer  desired  to  release  you  that  you  might  become  his 
wife.  To  satisfy  the  jealousy  of  Heliodora,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  please  the  Greek  commander  in  Rome,  he  plotted  to 
convey  you  to  Constantinople.  I  having  discovered  this 
plot,  found  a  way  to  defeat  it.  You  escaped  but  narrowly. 
When  I  carried  you  away  from  Praeneste,  pursuers  were 
close  behind  us,  therefore  it  was  that  we  travelled  through 
the  night.  Here  you  are  in  safety,  for  King  Totila  is  close 
at  hand,  and  will  guard  you  against  your  enemies.' 

Veranilda  pressed  her  hands  upon  her  forehead,  and  stood 
mute.  As  his  eyes  shifted  furtively  about  her,  Marcian 
caught  sight  of  something  black  and  undulant  stirring  among 
stones  near  her  feet ;  at  once  he  grasped  her  by  the  arm,  and 
drew  her  towards  him. 

'  A  viper ! '  he  exclaimed,  pointing. 

1  What  of  that  ? '  was  her  reply,  with  a  careless  glance.  '  I 
would  not  stir  a  step  to  escape  its  fangs.' 

And,  burying  her  face  in  her  hands,  she  wept. 

These  tears,  this  attitude  of  bewildered  grief,  were 
Marcian's  encouragement.  He  had  dreaded  the  innocence 
of  her  eyes  lest  it  should  turn  to  distrust  and  rejection. 
Had  she  refused  to  believe  him,  he  knew  not  how  he  would 
have  persisted  in  his  villainy;  for,  even  in  concluding  his 
story,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  must  betray  himself,  so 
perfidious  sounded  to  him  the  voice  which  he  could  hardly 
believe  his  own,  and  so  slinking-knavish  did  he  feel  the 
posture  of  his  body,  the  movements  of  his  limbs.  The 
distress  which  should  have  smitten  him  to  the  heart  restored 
his  baser  courage.  Again  he  spoke  with  the  sad  gravity  of  a 
sympathetic  friend. 


238  VERANILDA 

'Dearest  lady,  I  cannot  bid  you  be  comforted,  but  I 
entreat  you  to  pardon  me,  the  hapless  revealer  of  your 
misfortune.  Say  only  that  you  forgive  me.' 

'What  is  there  to  forgive?'  she  answered,  checking  her 
all  but  silent  sobs.  '  You  have  told  what  it  behoved  you  to 
tell.  And  it  may  be  ' — her  look  changed  of  a  sudden — '  that 
I  am  too  hasty  in  embracing  sorrow.  How  can  I  believe 
that  Basil  has  done  this?  Are  you  not  misled  by  some  false 
suspicion?  Has  not  some  enemy  slandered  him  to  you? 
What  can  you  say  to  make  me  credit  a  thing  so  evil  ? ' 

'  Alas !  It  were  but  too  easy  for  me  to  lengthen  a  tale 
which  all  but  choked  me  in  the  telling ;  I  could  name  others 
who  know,  but  to  you  they  would  be  only  names.  That 
of  Heliodora,  had  you  lived  in  Rome,  were  more  than 
enough.' 

'  You  say  he  loved  her  before  ? ' 

'  He  did,  dear  lady,  and  when  her  husband  was  yet  living. 
Now  that  he  is  dead ' 

'Have  you  yet  told  me  all?'  asked  Veranilda,  gazing 
fixedly  at  him.  '  Has  he  married  her  ? ' 

'  Not  yet— I  think.' 

Again  she  bowed  her  head.  For  a  moment  her  tears  fell 
silently,  then  she  looked  up  once  more  fighting  against  her 
anguish. 

'It  cannot  be  true  that  he  would  have  given  me  to  the 
Greeks ;  that  he  may  have  forgotten  me,  that  he  may  have 
turned  to  another  love,  I  can  perhaps  believe — for  what  am 
I  that  Basil  should  love  me  ?  But  to  scheme  my  injury,  to 

deliver  me  to  our  enemies Oh,  you  are  deceived,  you  are 

deceived ! ' 

Marcian  was  silent,  with  eyes  cast  down.  In  the 
branches,  cicadas  trilled  their  monotone.  The  viper,  which 
had  been  startled  away,  again  showed  its  lithe  blackness 
among  the  stones  behind  Veranilda,  and  Marcian,  catching 
sight  of  it,  again  touched  her  arm. 

'  The  snake !     Come  away  from  this  place.' 

Veranilda  drew  her  arm  back  as  if  his  touch  stung  her. 


THE  ISLAND   IN  THE  LIRIS    239 

'  I  will  go,'  she  said.  '  I  must  be  alone — my  thoughts  are 
in  such  confusion  I  know  not  what  I  say.' 

'Say  but  one  word,'  he  pleaded.  'Having  rescued  you, 
I  knew  not  how  to  provide  for  your  security  save  under  ward 
of  the  king.  Totila  is  noble  and  merciful;  all  Italy  will 
soon  be  his,  and  the  Gothic  rule  be  re-established.  Assure 
me  that  I  have  done  well  and  wisely.' 

'  I  hope  you  have,'  answered  Veranilda,  regarding  him  for 
an  instant.  '  But  I  know  nothing ;  I  must  bear  what  befalls. 
Let  me  §o  to  my  chamber,  lord  Marcian,  and  sit  alone 
and  think.' 

He  led  her  back  into  the  villa,  and  they  parted  without 
another  word. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

THE  BETRAYER  BETRAYED 

SAGARIS,  making  his  best  speed,  soon  arrived  at  Aquinum. 
He  and  his  horse  were  bathed  in  sweat ;  the  shelter  of  an 
inn,  where  he  had  dinner,  tempted  him  to  linger  more  than 
he  need  have  done,  and  the  fierce  sun  was  already  declining 
when  he  rode  forth  along  the  Latin  Way.  As  yet  he  had 
seen  no  Goths.  Every  one  talked  of  Totila,  but  he  had  a 
difficulty  in  ascertaining  where  at  this  moment  the  king  was 
to  be  found ;  some  declared  he  was  "as  near  as  Venafrum, 
others  that  he  lay  much  further  down  the  valley  of  the 
Vulturnus.  Arrived  at  Venafrum,  the  messenger  learnt  that 
he  could  not  have  less  than  another  whole  day's  journey 
before  him,  so  here  he  harboured  for  the  night. 

His  wily  and  unscrupulous  mind  had  all  day  long  been 
busy  with  speculations  as  to  the  errand  on  which  he  was  sent. 
Knowing  that  his  master  wrote  to  Goths  in  the  Gothic  tongue, 
he  was  spared  temptation  to  break  open  the  letter  he  carried ; 
otherwise  he  would  assuredly  have  done  so,  for  the  hatred 
which  Sagaris  naturally  felt  for  any  one  in  authority  over  him 
was  now  envenomed  by  jealousy,  and  for  the  last  month  or 
two  he  had  only  waited  an  opportunity  of  injuring  Marcian 
and  of  advancing,  by  the  same  stroke,  his  own  fortunes. 

Having  started  -from  Rome  in  ignorance  of  his  master's 
purpose,  the  events  of  the  night  at  Praeneste  at  once  suggested 
to  him  the  name  of  the  person  who  was  being  so  cautiously 
and  hurriedly  conveyed  under  Marcian's  guard,  and  by  the 
end  of  the  journey  he  had  no  doubt  left.  Here,  at  last,  was 
the  Gothic  maiden  who  had  been  sought  so  persistently  by 

240 


THE  BETRAYER  BETRAYED  241 

Marcian,  by  Basil,  by  Bessas,  by  Heliodora,  and  doubtless 
by  many  others,  since  her  disappearance  from  Surrentum. 
Whither  was  she  now  being  conducted?  Sagaris  did  not 
know  that  among  her  seekers  was  King  Totila  himself;  on 
the  other  hand,  he  had  much  reason  for  suspecting  that 
Marcian  pursued  Veranilda  with  a  lover's  passion,  and  when 
the  journey  ended  at  the  island  villa,  when  the  convoy  of 
horsemen  was  dismissed,  when  he  himself  was  sent  off  to  a 
distance,  he  saw  his  suspicion  confirmed.  By  some  supreme 
subtlety,  Marcian  had  got  the  beautiful  maiden  into  his 
power,  and  doubtless  the  letter  he  was  sending  to  Totila 
contained  some  device  for  the  concealing  of  what  had 
happened. 

Now  to  the  Syrian  this  would  have  been  a  matter  of 
indifference,  but  for  his  secret  communications  with  Helio- 
dora and  all  that  had  resulted  therefrom.  Heliodora's  talk 
was  of  three  persons — of  Marcian,  of  Basil,  of  Veranilda — 
and  Sagaris,  reasoning  from  all  the  gossip  he  had  heard,  and 
from  all  he  certainly  knew,  concluded  that  the  Greek  lady 
had  once  loved  Basil,  but  did  so  no  more,  that  her  love  had 
turned  to  Marcian,  and  that  she  either  knew  or  suspected 
Marcian  to  be  a  rival  of  Basil  for  the  love  of  Veranilda. 
Thus  had  matters  stood  (he  persuaded  himself)  until  his 
own  entrance  on  the  scene.  That  a  woman  might  look  with 
ardent  eyes  on  more  than  one  man  in  the  same  moment, 
seemed  to  Sagaris  the  simplest  of  facts;  he  consequently 
found  it  easy  to  believe  that,  even  whilst  loving  Marcian, 
Heliodora  should  have  conceived  a  tenderness  for  Marcian's 
slave.  That  Heliodora's  professions  might  be  mere  trickery, 
he  never  imagined ;  his  vanity  forbade  it ;  at  each  successive 
meeting  he  seemed  to  himself  to  have  strengthened  his  hold 
upon  the  luxurious  woman ;  each  time  he  came  away  with 
a  fiercer  hatred  of  Marcian,  and  a  deeper  resolve  to  ruin  him. 
True,  as  yet,  he  had  fed  only  on  promises,  but  being  the  man 
he  was,  he  could  attribute  to  Heliodora  a  selfish  interest  in 
combination  with  a  lover's  desire;  what  more  intelligible 
than  that  she  should  use  him  to  the  utmost  against  those 

Q 


VERANILDA 

she  hated,  postponing  his  reward  until  he  had  rendered  her 
substantial  service  ?  Thus  did  Sagaris  feel  and  reason,  whilst 
riding  along  the  Latin  Way.  His  difficulty  was  to  decide 
how  he  should  act  at  this  juncture ;  how,  with  greatest  profit 
to  himself,  he  could  do  most  scathe  to  Marcian. 

Was  his  master  serving  the  Greeks  or  the  Goths?  Un- 
certainty on  this  point  had  long  troubled  his  meditations,  and 
was  now  a  cause  of  grave  embarrassment.  Eager  to  betray, 
he  could  not  be  sure  to  which  side  betrayal  should  direct 
itself.  On  the  whole  he  himself  favoured  Totila,  feeling  sure 
that  the  Goth  would  bring  the  war  to  a  triumphant  end ;  and 
on  this  account  he  was  disposed  to  do  his  errand  faithfully. 
If  the  king  interrogated  him,  he  could  draw  conclusions  from 
the  questions  asked,  and  could  answer  as  seemed  best  for 
his  own  ends.  So  he  decided  to  push  on,  and,  despite  the 
storm  which  broke  on  this  second  morning,  he  rode  out  from 
Venafrum. 

A  few  hours'  travel,  and,  drenched  with  the  furious  rain,  he 
came  to  Aesernia.  This  town  stood  in  a  strong  position  on 
an  isolated  hill ;  its  massive  walls  yet  compassed  it  about.  On 
arriving  at  the  gate  he  found  himself  unexpectedly  challenged 
by  armed  men,  who,  though  Italians,  he  at  once  suspected  to 
be  in  the  Gothic  service.  A  moment's  hesitancy  in  replying 
to  the  questions,  '  Whence  ? '  and  '  Whither  ? '  sufficed  to  put 
him  under  arrest.  He  was  led  to  the  captain,  in  whom  with 
relief  he  recognised  Venantius  of  Nuceria.  His  doubts  being 
at  an  end,  for  he  knew  that  this  Roman  noble  had  long  since 
openly  joined  Totila,  he  begged  that  Venantius  would  hear 
him  in  private,  and  this  being  granted,  began  by  telling  in 
whose  service  he  was. 

'I  thought  I  somehow  remembered  your  face,'  said  the 
captain,  whose  look  seemed  to  add  that  the  face  did  not 
particularly  please  him.  '  And  where  is  the  lord  Marcian  ? ' 

'  In  Rome,  Illustrious.' 

4  You  have  come  straight  from  Rome,  then?' 

The  answer  was  affirmative  and  boldly  given. 

4  And  whither  are  you  bound  ?    On  what  business  ? ' 


THE  BETRAYER  BETRAYED  243 

Sagaris,  still  obeying  his  master's  injunctions,  declared  that 
he  carried  a  verbal  message  to  the  King  of  the  Goths,  and  for 
him  alone.  Having  reflected  for  a  moment,  Venantius  called 
the  soldier  who  stood  without  the  door. 

'  See  to  the  wants  of  this  messenger.  Treat  him  hospitably, 
and  bring  him  hither  again  in  an  hour's  time.' 

The  captain  then  walked  to  a  house  close  by,  where, 
admitted  to  the  atrium,  he  was  at  once  met  by  an  elderly 
lady,  who  bent  respectfully  before  him. 

'  Has  the  traveller  yet  risen  ? '  he  began  by  asking. 

'  Not  yet,  my  lord.  A  little  while  ago  his  servant  told  me 
that  he  was  still  sleeping.' 

'  Good ;  he  will  recover  from  his  fatigue.  But  pray  inquire 
whether  he  is  now  awake,  for  I  would  speak  with  him  as 
soon  as  may  be.' 

The  lady  was  absent  for  a  minute  or  two,  then  brought 
word  that  the  traveller  had  just  awoke. 

1 1  will  go  to  his  bedside,'  said  Venantius. 

He  was  led  to  an  upper  chamber,  a  small,  bare,  tiled-floored 
room,  lighted  by  a  foot-square  window,  on  which  the  shutter 
was  half  closed  against  the  rays  of  the  sun.  Some  aromatic 
odour  hung  in  the  air. 

'Do  you  feel  able  to  talk?'  asked  the  captain  as  he 
entered. 

'  I  am  quite  restored,'  was  the  reply  of  a  man  sitting  up  in 
the  bed.  '  The  fever  has  passed.' 

'So  much  for  the  wisdom  of  physicians!'  exclaimed 
Venantius  with  a  laugh.  'That  owl-eyed  Aesernian  who 
swears  by  Aesculapius  that  he  has  studied  at  Constantinople, 
Antioch,  and  I  know  not  where  else,  whispered  to  me  that 
you  would  never  behold  to-day's  sunset.  I  whispered  to  him 
that  he  was  an  ass,  and  that  if  he  uttered  the  word  plague  to 
any  one  in  the  house,  I  would  cut  his  ears  off.  Nevertheless, 
I  had  you  put  into  this  out-of-the-way  room,  that  you  might 
not  be  disturbed  by  noises.  Who ' — he  sniffed — '  has  been 
burning  perfumes?' 

'  My  good  fellow  Felix.    Though  travel-worn  and  wounded, 


244  VERANILDA 

he  has  sat  by  me  all  the  time,  and  would  only  go  to  bed  when 
I  woke  up  with  a  cool  forehead.' 

'  A  good  fellow,  indeed.  His  face  spells  honesty.  I  can't 
say  so  much  for  that  of  a  man  I  have  just  been  talking  with — 
a  messenger  of  your  friend  Marcian.' 

The  listener  started  as  though  he  would  leap  out  of  bed. 
A  rush  of  colour  to  his  cheeks  banished  the  heavy,  wan  aspect 
which  had  partly  disguised  him,  and  restored  the  comely 
visage  of  Basil.  A  messenger  from  Marcian  ?  he  exclaimed. 
With  news  for  him?  And,  as  if  expecting  a  letter,  he 
stretched  forth  his  hand  eagerly. 

'  He  has  nothing,  that  I  know  of,  for  you,'  said  the  captain. 
'  If  he  tells  the  truth,  he  is  charged  with  a  message  for  the 
king.' 

c  Is  it  Sagaris — a  Syrian  slave  ? ' 

'A  Syrian,  by  his  looks;  one  I  remember  to  have  seen 
with  Marcian  a  year  ago.' 

'Sagaris,  to  be  sure.  Then  you  can  trust  him.  He  has 
the  eye  of  his  race,  and  is  a  prating  braggart,  but  Marcian 
has  found  him  honest.  I  must  see  him,  Venantius.  Will 
you  send  him  to  me,  dear  lord  ? ' 

Venantius  had  seated  himself  on  a  chair  that  was  beside 
the  bed ;  he  wore  a  dubious  look,  and,  before  speaking  again, 
glanced  keenly  at  Basil. 

'  Did  you  not  expect,'  he  asked,  '  to  meet  Marcian  in  the 
king's  camp  ? ' 

'  My  last  news  from  him  bade  me  go  thither  as  fast  as  I 
could,  as  he  himself  was  leaving  Rome  to  join  the  king. 
I  should  have  gone  a  little  out  of  my  road  to  visit  his  villa 
near  Arpinum,  on  the  chance  of  hearing  news  of  him  there  j 
but  our  encounter  with  the  marauders  drove  me  too  far 
away.' 

'  So  much,'  said  Venantius,  '  I  gathered  from  your  talk  last 
night,  when  you  were  not  quite  so  clear-headed  as  you  are  now. 
What  I  want  to  discover  is  whether  this  Syrian  has  lied  to 
me.  He  declares  that  he  left  Marcian  in  Rome.  Now  it 
happens  that  some  of  our  men,  who  were  sent  for  a  certain 


THE  BETRAYER  BETRAYED  245 

purpose,  yesterday,  along  the  Latin  Way,  came  across  half 
a  dozen  horsemen,  riding  westward,  and  as  their  duty  was, 
learnt  all  they  could  from  them.  These  six  fellows  declared 
themselves  servants  of  the  bishop  of  Praeneste,  and  said  that 
they  had  just  been  convoying  a  Roman  noble  and  a  lady  to  a 
villa  not  far  from  Arpinum.  And  the  noble's  name — they 
had  it,  said  they,  from  his  own  servants  at  the  villa,  where 
they  had  passed  a  night — was  Marcian.' 

Basil  stared  ;  he  had  gone  pale  again  and  haggard. 

'What  lady  was  with  him  ?'  he  asked,  under  his  breath. 

'  That  I  cannot  tell  you.  The  bishop's  men  knew  nothing 
about  her,  and  had  not  seen  her  face.  But' — Venantius 
smiled — '  they  left  her  safely  housed  with  our  friend  Marcian. 
How  comes  this  Syrian  to  say  that  his  master  is  at  Rome  ? 
Does  he  lie  ?  Or  did  the  horsemen  lie?  Or  are  there,  per- 
chance, two  Marcians?' 

'  I  must  speak  with  him,'  said  Basil.  '  Leave  me  to  find 
out  the  truth  for  you.  Send  Sagaris  here,  Venantius,  I  en- 
treat you.' 

The  captain  appeared  to  hesitate,  but,  on  Basil's  beseeching 
him  not  to  delay,  he  agreed  and  left  the  room.  As  soon  as 
he  was  alone,  Basil  sprang  up  and  dressed.  He  was  aching 
from  head  to  foot,  and  a  parched  mouth,  a  hot  hand,  told  of 
fever  in  his  blood.  On  receipt  of  Marcian's  last  letter,  he  had 
not  delayed  a  day  before  setting  forth  ;  all  was  in  readiness 
for  such  a  summons,  and  thirty  well-mounted,  well-armed  men, 
chosen  from  the  slaves  and  freedmen  on  his  Asculan  estate  in 
Picenum,  rode  after  him  to  join  the  King  of  the  Goths.  The 
journey  was  rapidly  performed ;  already  they  were  descending 
the  lower  slopes  of  the  westward  Apennine,  when  they  had 
the  ill-luck  to  fall  in  with  that  same  band  of  marauders  which 
Marcian  so  narrowly  escaped.  Basil's  first  thought  was  that 
the  mounted  troop  coming  towards  him  might  be  in  the  Gothic 
service,  but  this  hope  was  soon  dispelled.  Advancing  with 
fierce  threats,  the  robbers  commanded  him  and  his  men  to 
alight,  their  chief  desire  being  no  doubt  to  seize  the  horses 
and  arms.  Though  outnumbered,  Basil  shouted  defiance ;  a 


246  VERANILDA 

conflict  began,  and  so  stout  was  the  resistance  they  met 
that,  after  several  had  fallen  on  either  side,  the  brigands  drew 
off.  Not,  however,  in  final  retreat ;  galloping  on  in  hope  of 
succour,  Basil  found  himself  pursued,  again  lost  two  or  three 
men,  and  only  with  the  utmost  difficulty  got  clear  away. 

It  was  the  young  Roman's  first  experience  of  combat.  For 
this  he  had  been  preparing  himself  during  the  past  months, 
exercising  his  body  and  striving  to  invigorate  his  mind,  little 
apt  for  warlike  enterprise.  When  the  trial  came,  his  courage 
did  not  fail,  but  the  violent  emotions  of  that  day  left  him  so 
exhausted,  so  shaken  in  nerve,  that  he  could  scarce  continue 
his  journey.  He  had  come  out  of  the  fight  unwounded,  but 
at  nightfall  fever  fell  upon  him,  and  he  found  no  rest.  The 
loss  of  some  half  dozen  men  grieved  him  to  the  heart ;  had 
the  brave  fellows  fallen  in  battle  with  the  Greeks,  he  would 
have  thought  less  of  it ;  to  see  them  slain,  or  captured,  by 
mere  brigands  was  more  than  he  could  bear.  When  at  length 
he  reached  Aesernia,  and  there  unexpectedly  met  with  Venan- 
tius,  he  fell  from  his  horse  like  a  dying  man.  A  draught  given 
by  the  physician  sent  him  to  sleep,  and  from  the  second  hour 
after  sunset  until  nearly  noon  of  to-day  he  had  lain  unconscious. 

What  he  now  learnt  from  Venantius  swept  into  oblivion  all 
that  he  had  undergone.  If  it  were  true  that  Marcian  had 
travelled  in  this  direction  with  a  lady  under  his  guard,  Basil 
could  not  doubt  for  a  moment  who  that  lady  was.  The  jest 
of  Venantius  did  not  touch  him,  for  Venantius  spoke,  it  was 
evident,  without  a  thought  of  Veranilda,  perhaps  had  forgotten 
her  existence ;  not  the  faintest  tremor  of  uneasiness  stirred  in 
Basil's  mind  when  he  imagined  Veranilda  at  his  friend's  house ; 
Marcian  had  discovered  her,  had  rescued  her,  had  brought  her 
thither  to  rest  in  safety  till  her  lover  could  join  them — brave 
Marcian,  truest  of  friends !  For  this  had  he  sent  the  summons 
southward,  perhaps  not  daring  to  speak  more  plainly  in  a 
letter,  perhaps  not  being  yet  quite  sure  of  success.  This  had 
he  so  often  promised — O  gallant  Marcian  ! 

Quivering  with  eagerness,  he  stood  at  the  door  of  his 
chamber.  Footsteps  sounded ;  there  appeared  a  slave  of  the 


THE  BETRAYER  BETRAYED  247 

house,  and  behind  him  that  dark,  handsome  visage  which  he 
was  expecting. 

'  Sagaris  !    My  good  Sagaris ! '  he  cried  joyously. 

The  Syrian  knelt  before  him  and  kissed  his  hand,  but  uttered 
no  word.  At  sight  of  Basil,  for  which  he  was  not  at  all  pre- 
pared, Sagaris  felt  a  happy  shock ;  he  now  saw  his  way  before 
him,  and  had  no  more  anxiety.  But,  on  rising  from  the 
obeisance,  he  let  his  head  drop ;  his  eyes  wandered :  one 
would  have  said  that  he  shrank  from  observation. 

'  Speak  low,'  said  Basil,  standing  by  the  open  door  so  as  to 
guard  against  eavesdropping.  '  What  message  have  you  for 
me? 

Sagaris  replied  that  he  had  none. 

'None?  Your  lord  charged  you  with  nothing  for  me  in 
case  you  should  meet  me  on  your  way  ? ' 

Again  Sagaris  murmured  a  negative,  and  this  time  with 
so  manifest  an  air  of  confusion  that  Basil  stared  at  him,  sus- 
picious, angry. 

'  What  do  you  mean  ?    What  are  you  keeping  from  me  ?  ' 

The  man  appeared  to  stammer  incoherencies. 

'  Listen,'  said  Basil  in  a  low,  friendly  voice.  '  You  know  very 
well  that  the  lord  Marcian  has  no  secrets  from  me.  With  me 
you  can  speak  in  entire  confidence.  What  has  come  to 
you,  man  ?  Tell  me — did  your  lord  leave  Rome  before  or 
after  you  ? ' 

'  At  the  same  time.' 

No  sooner  had  this  reply  fallen  from  his  lips  than  Sagaris 
seemed  stricken  with  alarm.  He  entreated  pardon,  declared 
he  knew  not  what  he  was  saying,  that  he  was  dazed  by  the 
weariness  of  travel. 

'I  should  have  said — neither  before  nor  after.  My  lord 
remains  in  the  city.  I  was  to  return  with  all  speed.' 

'  He  remains  in  the  city  ?  ' 

Basil  reflected.  It  was  possible  that  Marcian  had  either 
purposely  concealed  his  journey  from  this  slave,  and  had 
suddenly  found  himself  able  to  set  forth  just  after  Sagaris 
had  started. 


248  VERANILDA 

4  You  bear  a  letter  for  the  king  ? '  he  asked. 

'A  letter,  Illustrious,'  answered  the  slave,  speaking  very 
low. 

c  Ah,  a  letter  ? ' 

Sagaris  went  on  to  say  that  he  had  kept  this  a  secret  from 
Venantius,  his  master  having  bidden  him  speak  of  it  to  no  one 
and  deliver  it  into  the  king's  own  hand. 

'  It  is  in  the  Gothic  tongue,'  he  added,  his  head  bent,  his 
look  more  furtive  than  ever ;  ( and  so  urgent  that  I  have  scarce 
rested  an  hour  since  leaving  the  villa.' 

A  terrible  light  flashed  into  Basil's  eyes.  Then  he  sprang 
at  the  speaker,  caught  him  by  the  throat,  forced  him  to  his 
knees. 

'  Scoundrel,  you  dare  to  lie  to  me !  So  you  started  from 
the  villa  and  not  from  Rome  ? ' 

Sagaris  cried  out  for  mercy,  grovelled  on  the  floor.  He 
would  tell  everything ;  but  he  implored  Basil  to  keep  the 
secret,  for,  did  his  master  learn  what  had  happened,  his 
punishment  would  be  terrible. 

'  Fool ! '  cried  Basil  fiercely.  '  How  come  you  to  have  for- 
gotten all  at  once  that  I  am  your  lord's  chosen  friend,  and 
that  everything  concerning  him  is  safe  with  me.  In  very 
deed,  I  think  you  have  ridden  too  hard  in  the  sun ;  your 
brains  must  have  frizzled.  Blockhead  !  If  in  haste,  the  lord 
Marcian  did  not  speak  of  me,  he  took  it  for  granted  that, 
should  you  meet  me ' 

Something  so  like  a  malicious  smile  flitted  over  the  slave's 
countenance  that  in  extremity  of  wrath  he  became  mute. 

'Your  Nobility  is  deceived,'  said  Sagaris,  in  the  same 
moment.  '  My  lord  expressly  forbade  me  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
should  I  see  you  on  my  journey.' 

Basil  stared  at  him. 

'  I  swear  by  the  holy  Cross,'  exclaimed  the  other,  '  that 
this  is  true.  And  if  I  did  not  dread  your  anger,  I  could 
tell  you  the  reason.  I  dare  not.  By  all  the  saints  I  dare 
not!' 

A  strange  quiet  fell  upon  Basil.     It  seemed  as  if  he  would 


THE  BETRAYER  BETRAYED  249 

ask  no  more  questions ;  he  half  turned  away,  and  stood 
musing.  Indeed,  it  was  as  though  he  had  already  heard  all 
the  slave  had  to  tell,  and  so  overcome  was  he  by  the  revela- 
tion that  speech,  even  connected  thought,  was  at  first  impos- 
sible. As  he  recovered  from  the  stupefying  blow,  the  blood 
began  to  boil  in  his  veins.  He  felt  as  when,  in  the  fight  of  two 
days  ago,  he  saw  the  first  of  his  men  pierced  by  a  javelin. 
Turning  again  to  Sagaris,  he.  plied  him  with  brief  and  rapid 
questions,  till  he  had  learnt  every  detail  of  Marcian's  journey 
from  Rome  to  the  villa.  The  Syrian  spoke  of  the  veiled 
lady  without  hesitation  as  Veranilda,  and  pretended  to  have 
known  for  some  time  that  she  was  in  a  convent  at  Praeneste; 
but,  when  interrogated  as  to  her  life  at  the  villa,  he  affected 
an  affectation  of  doubt,  murmuring  that  he  had  beheld 
nothing  with  his  own  eyes,  that  perhaps  the  female  slaves 
gossiped  idly. 

'  What  do  they  say  ? '  asked  Basil  with  unnatural  self- 
control. 

'  They  speak  of  her  happy  mien  and  gay  talk,  of  her  walk- 
ing with  my  lord  in  private.  But  I  know  nothing.' 

Basil  kept  his  eyes  down  for  a  long  minute,  then  moved 
like  one  who  has  taken  a  resolve. 

1  Show  me  the  letter  you  bear,'  he  commanded. 

Sagaris  produced  it,  and  having  looked  at  the  seal,  Basil 
silently  handed  it  back  again. 

'  Thrice  noble,'  pleaded  the  slave,  '  you  will  not  deliver  me 
to  my  lord's  wrath  ? ' 

'  Have  no  fear ;  unless  in  anything  you  have  lied  to  me. 
Follow.' 

They  descended  the  stairs,  and  Basil  had  himself  con- 
ducted to  the  house  where  Venantius  sate  at  dinner.  He 
spoke  with  the  captain  in  private. 

'This  slave  has  a  letter,  not  merely  a  message,  for  the 
king.  He  says  it  is  urgent,  and  so  it  may  be;  but,  from 
what  I  have  learnt  I  doubt  whether  he  is  wholly  to  be  trusted. 
Can  you  send  some  one  with  him  ? ' 

'  Nothing  easier.' 


250  VERANILDA 

'  I,'  continued  Basil,  '  ride  straightway  for  Arpinum.  Ask 
me  no  questions,  Venantius.  When  I  return,  if  I  do  return, 
you  shall  know  what  sent  me  there.  I  may  be  back 
speedily.' 

He  took  food,  and  in  an  hour's  time  was  ready  to  start. 
Of  his  followers,  he  chose  ten  to  accompany  him.  The  rest 
remained  at  Aesernia.  Felix,  worn  out  by  watching  and 
with  a  slight  wound  in  the  side  which  began  to  be  trouble- 
some, he  was  reluctantly  obliged  to  leave.  Having  inquired 
as  to  the  road  over  the  mountains  by  which  he  might  reach 
Arpinum  more  quickly  than  by  the  Latin  Way,  he  rode  forth 
from  the  town,  and  was  soon  spurring  at  headlong  speed  in  a 
cloud  of  dust. 

His  thoughts  far  outstripped  him ;  he  raged  at  the  prospect 
of  long  hours  to  elapse  ere  he  could  reach  Marcian's  villa. 
With  good  luck  he  might  arrive  before  nightfall.  If  dis- 
appointed in  that,  a  whole  night  must  pass,  an  eternity  of 
torment,  before  he  came  face  to  face  with  him  he  had  called 
his  dearest  friend,  now  his  abhorred  enemy. 

What  if  he  did  not  find  him  at  the  villa  ?  Marcian  had 
perhaps  no  intention  of  remaining  there.  Perhaps  he  had 
already  carried  off  his  victim  to  some  other  place. 

Seeing  their  lord  post  so  furiously,  the  men  looked  in 
wonder  at  each  other.  Some  of  them  were  soon  left  far 
behind,  and  Basil,  though  merciless  in  his  frenzy,  saw  at 
length  that  his  horse  was  seriously  distressed ;  he  slackened 
pace,  allowed  his  followers  to  rejoin  him,  and  rode,  perforce, 
at  what  seemed  to  him  a  mere  crawl.  The  sun  was  a 
flaming  furnace ;  the  earth  seemed  to  be  overspread  with  white 
fire-ash,  which  dazed  the  eyes  and  choked.  But  Basil  felt 
only  the  fire  in  his  heart  and  brain.  Forgetful  of  all  about 
him,  he  had  not  ridden  more  than  a  few  miles,  when  he 
missed  the  road;  his  men,  ignorant  of  the  country,  fol- 
lowed him  without  hesitation,  and  so  it  happened  that,  on 
stopping  at  one  of  the  few  farms  on  their  way,  to  ask  how 
far  it  still  was  to  Arpinum,  he  learnt  that  he  must  ride 
back  for  nearly  a  couple  of  hours  to  regain  the  track  he 


THE  BETRAYER  BETRAYED  251 

should  have  taken.  He  broke  into  frantic  rage,  cursed  the 
countrymen  who  directed  him,  and  as  he  spurred  his  beast, 
cursed  it  too  because  of  its  stumbling  at  a  stone. 

There  was  now  no  hope  of  finishing  the  journey  to-day.  His 
head  on  his  breast,  Basil  rode  more  and  more  slowly.  The 
sun  declined,  and  ere  long  it  would  be  necessary  to  seek 
harbourage.  But  here  among  the  hills  no  place  of  human 
habitation  came  in  view.  Luckily  for  themselves  some  of  the 
horsemen  had  brought  provender.  Their  lord  had  given 
thought  to  no  such  thing.  The  sun  set ;  the  hills  cast  a 
thickening  shadow,  even  Basil  began  to  gaze  uneasily  ahead. 
At  length  there  appeared  a  building,  looking  in  the  dusky 
distance  like  a  solitary  country  house.  It  proved  to  be  the 
ruin  of  a  temple. 

1  Here  we  must  stop,'  said  Basil.  '  My  horse  can  go  no 
further.  Indeed,  the  darkness  would  stay  us  in  any  case. 
We  must  shelter  in  these  walls.' 

The  men  peered  at  each  other,  and  a  whisper  went  among 
them.  For  their  part,  said  one  and  all,  they  would  rest 
under  the  open  sky.  Basil  understood. 

'  What !  you  are  afraid  ?  Fools,  do  as  you  will.  These 
walls  shall  shelter  me  though  all  the  devils  in  hell  were  my 
bedfellows.' 

What  had  come  to  him  ?  asked  his  followers.  Never  had 
Basil  been  known  to  speak  thus.  Spite  of  their  horror  of  a 
forsaken  temple,  two  or  three  entered,  and  respectfully  made 
offer  of  such  food  as  they  had  with  them.  Basil  accepted  a 
piece  of  bread,  bade  them  see  to  his  horse,  and  crept  into 
a  corner  of  the  building.  He  desired  to  be  alone  and  to 
think  ;  for  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  not  yet  been  able  to 
reflect  upon  the  story  told  by  Sagaris.  What  was  it  that 
lurked  there  at  the  back  of  his  mind  ?  A  memory,  a  sug- 
gestion of  some  sort,  which  would  have  helped  him  to  under- 
stand could  he  but  grasp  it.  As  he  munched  his  bread  he 
tried  desperately  to  think,  to  remember ;  but  all  within  him 
was  a  passionate  misery,  capable  only  of  groans  and  curses. 
An  intolerable  weariness  possessed  bis  limbs.  After  sitting 


252  VERANILDA 

for  a  while  with  his  back  against  the  wall,  he  could  not 
longer  hold  himself  in  this  position,  but  sank  down  and  lay  at 
full  length ;  and  even  so  he  ached,  ached,  from  head  to  foot. 

Perhaps  an  hour  had  passed,  and  it  was  now  quite  dark 
within  the  temple,  when  two  of  the  men  appeared  with  blaz- 
ing torches,  for  they,  by  means  of  flint  and  iron,  had  lit 
a  fire  in  a  hollow  hard  by,  and  meant  to  keep  it  up  through 
the  night  as  a  protection  against  wolves.  They  brought 
Basil  a  draught  of  water  in  a  leather  bottle,  from  a  little 
stream  they  had  found ;  and  he  drank  gratefully,  but  without 
a  word.  The  torchlight  showed  bare  walls  and  a  shattered 
roof.  Having  searched  all  round  and  discovered  neither 
reptile  nor  beast,  the  men  made  a  bed  of  leaves  and  bracken, 
with  a  folded  cloak  for  a  pillow,  and  invited  their  master  to 
lie  upon  it.  Basil  did  so,  turned  his  face  away,  and  bade 
them  leave  him  alone. 

What  was  that  memory  at  the  back  of  his  mind  ?  In  the 
effort  to  draw  it  forth  he  ground  his  teeth  together,  dug  his 
nails  into  his  hands.  At  moments  he  forgot  why  he  was 
wretched,  and,  starting  up,  strained  his  eyes  into  the  dark- 
ness, until  he  saw  the  face  of  Sagaris  and  heard  him  speaking. 

For  a  while  he  slept ;  but  dreadful  dreams  soon  awoke 
him,  and,  remembering  where  he  was,  he  shook  with  horror. 
Low  sounds  fell  upon  his  ear,  movements,  he  thought,  in  the 
black  night.  He  would  have  shouted  to  his  men,  but  shame 
kept  him  mute.  He  crossed  himself  and  prayed  to  the 
Virgin ;  then,  raising  his  eyes,  he  saw  through  the  broken  roof 
a  space  of  sky  in  which  a  star  shone  brilliantly.  It  brought 
him  comfort ;  but  the  next  moment  he  remembered  Sagaris, 
and  mental  anguish  blended  with  his  fears  of  the  invisible. 

Again  sleep  overcame  him.  He  dreamt  that  an  evil  spirit, 
with  a  face  he  knew  but  could  not  name,  was  pursuing  him 
over  trackless  mountains.  He  fled  like  the  wind;  but  the 
spirit  was  close  behind  him,  and  wherever  he  turned  his  head, 
he  saw  the  familiar  face  grinning  a  devilish  mockery.  A 
precipice  lay  before  him.  He  leapt  wildly,  and  knew  at  once 
that  he  had  leapt  into  fire,  into  hell.  But  the  red  gleam 


THE  BETRAYER  BETRAYED  253 

was  that  of  a  torch,  and  before  him,  as  he  opened  his  eyes, 
stood  one  of  his  faithful  attendants  who  had  come  to  see  if 
all  was  well  with  him.  He  asked  for  water,  and  the  man 
fetched  him  a  draught.  It  was  yet  long  till  dawn. 

Now  he  could  not  lie  still,  for  fever  burned  him.  Though 
awake,  he  saw  visions,  and  once  sent  forth  what  seemed  to 
him  a  yell  of  terror;  but  in  truth  it  was  only  a  moan,  and 
no  one  heard.  He  relived  through  the  fight  with  the 
marauders;  sickened  with  dread  at  the  gleam  of  weapons; 
flamed  into  fury,  and  shouted  with  savage  exultation  as  he 
felt  his  sword  cut  the  neck  of  an  enemy.  He  was  trying  to 
think  of  Veranilda,  but  all  through  the  night  her  image 
eluded  him,  and  her  name  left  him  cold.  He  was  capable 
only  of  hatred.  At  daybreak  he  slept  heavily;  the  men, 
approaching  him  and  looking  at  his  haggard  face,  thought 
better  to  let  him  rest,  and  only  after  sunrise  did  he  awake. 
He  was  angry  that  they  had  not  aroused  him  sooner,  got 
speedily  to  horse,  and  rode  off  almost  at  the  same  speed  as 
yesterday.  Now,  at  all  events,  he  drew  near  to  his  goal; 
for  a  ride  of  an  hour  or  two  he  needed  not  to  spare  his 
beast ;  sternly  he  called  to  his  men  to  follow  him  close. 

And  all  at  once,  as  though  his  brain  were  restored  by  the 
freshness  of  the  morning,  he  grasped  the  thought  which  had 
eluded  him.  Marcian's  treachery  was  no  new  thing :  twice 
he  had  been  warned  against  his  seeming  friend,  by  Petronilla 
and  by  Bessas,  and  in  his  folly  he  had  scorned  the  accusa- 
tion which  time  had  now  so  bitterly  justified.  Forgotten, 
utterly  forgotten,  until  this  moment ;  yet  how  blinded  he  must 
have  been  by  his  faith  in  Marcian's  loyalty  not  to  have 
reflected  upon  many  circumstances  prompting  suspicion. 
Marcian  had  perhaps  been  false  to  him  from  the  very  day 
of  Veranilda's  disappearance,  and  how  far  did  his  perfidy 
extend  ?  Had  he  merely  known  where  she  was  concealed,  or 
had  he  seen  her,  spoken  with  her,  wooed  her  all  along?  He 
had  won  her;  so  much  was  plain;  and  he  could  scarce  have 
done  so  during  the  brief  journey  to  his  villa.  O  villainous 
Marcian !  O  fickle,  wanton  Veranilda ! 


254  VERANILDA 

So  distinct  before  his  fiery  imagination  shone  the  image 
of  those  two  laughing  together,  walking  alone  (as  Sagaris 
had  reported),  that  all  reasoning,  such  as  a  calmer  man 
might  have  entertained,  was  utterly  forbidden.  Not  a  doubt 
crossed  his  mind.  And  in  his  heart  was  no  desire  but  of 
vengeance. 

At  length  he  drew  near  to  Arpinum.  Avoiding  the  town, 
he  questioned  a  peasant  at  work  in  the  fields,  and  learnt 
his  way  to  the  island.  Just  as  he  came  within  view  of  the 
eastward  waterfall,  a  girl  was  crossing  the  bridge,  away  from 
the  villa.  Basil  drew  rein,  bidding  his  men  do  likewise,  and 
let  the  girl,  who  had  a  bundle  on  her  head,  draw  near.  At 
sight  of  the  horsemen,  of  whom  she  was  not  aware  till  close 
by  them,  the  maid  uttered  a  cry  of  alarm,  and  would  have 
run  back  but  Basil  intercepted  her,  jumped  from  his  horse, 
and  bade  her  have  no  fear,  as  he  only  wished  to  ask  a 
harmless  question.  Easily  he  learnt  that  Marcian  was  at  the 
villa,  that  he  had  arrived  a  few  days  ago,  and  that  with  him 
had  come  a  lady. 

'What  is  that  lady's  name?'  he  inquired. 

The  girl  did  not  know.  Only  one  or  two  of  the  slaves, 
she  said,  had  seen  her ;  she  was  said  to  be  beautiful,  with 
long  yellow  hair. 

'She  never  goes  out?'  asked  Basil. 

The  reply  was  that,  only  this  morning,  she  had  walked  in 
the  wood — the  wood  just  across  the  bridge — with  Marcian. 

Basil  sprang  on  to  his  horse,  beckoned  his  troop,  and  rode 
forward. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

DOOM 

WHEN  Marcian  parted  from  Veranilda  in  the  peristyle,  and 
watched  her  as  she  ascended  to  her  chamber,  he  knew  that 
sombre  exultation  which  follows  upon  triumph  in  evil. 
Hesitancies  were  now  at  end;  no  longer  could  he  be 
distracted  between  two  desires.  In  his  eye,  as  it  pursued 
the  beauty  for  which  he  had  damned  himself,  glowed  the 
fire  of  an  unholy  joy.  Not  without  inner  detriment  had 
Marcian  accustomed  himself  for  years  to  wear  a  double  face ; 
though  his  purpose  had  been  pure,  the  habit  of  assiduous 
perfidy,  of  elaborate  falsehood,  could  not  leave  his  soul 
untainted.  A  traitor  now  for  his  own  ends,  he  found  himself 
moving  in  no  unfamiliar  element,  and,  the  irrevocable  words 
once  uttered,  he  thrilled  with  defiance  of  rebuke.  All  the 
persistency  of  the  man  centred  itself  upon  the  achievement 
of  this  crime,  to  him  a  crime  no  longer  from  the  instant  that 
he  had  irreversibly  willed  it. 

On  fire  to  his  finger-tips,  he  could  yet  reason  with  the 
coldest  clarity  of  thought.  Having  betrayed  his  friend  thus 
far,  he  must  needs  betray  him  to  the  extremity  of  traitor- 
hood  ;  must  stand  face  to  face  with  him  in  the  presence  of 
the  noble  Totila,  and  accuse  him  even  as  he  had  done  to 
Veranilda.  Only  thus,  as  things  had  come  about,  could  he 
assure  himself  against  the  fear  that  Totila,  in  generosity,  or 
policy,  or  both,  might  give  the  Amal-descended  maid  to 
Basil.  To  defeat  Basil's  love  was  his  prime  end,  jealousy  being 
more  instant  with  him  than  fleshly  impulse.  Yet  so  strong 
had  this  second  motive  now  become,  that  he  all  but  regretted 

"55 


2$6  VERANILDA 

his  message  to  the  king :  to  hold  Veranilda  in  his  power,  to 
gratify  his  passion  sooner  or  later,  by  this  means  or  by  that, 
he  would  perhaps  have  risked  all  the  danger  to  which  such 
audacity  exposed  him.  But  Marcian  was  not  lust-bitten 
quite  to  madness.  For  the  present,  enough  to  ruin  the 
hopes  of  Basil.  This  done,  the  field  for  his  own  attempt  lay 
open.  By  skilful  use  of  his  advantages,  he  might  bring  it  to 
pass  that  Totila  would  grant  him  a  supreme  reward  —  the 
hand  of  Veranilda. 

Unless,  indeed,  the  young  king,  young  and  warm-blooded 
however  noble  of  mind,  should  himself  look  upon  Veranilda 
with  a  lover's  eyes.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that  Marcian 
had  thought  of  this.  It  made  him  wince.  But  he  re- 
minded himself  that  herein  lay  another  safeguard  against 
the  happiness  of  Basil,  and  so  was  able  to  disregard  the 
fear. 

He  would  let  his  victim  repose  during  the  heat  of  the  day, 
and  then,  towards  evening,  would  summon  her  to  another 
interview.  Not  much  longer  could  he  hope  to  be  with  her 
in  privacy ;  to-morrow,  or  the  next  day  at  latest,  emissaries  of 
the  Gothic  king  would  come  in  response  to  his  letter.  But 
this  evening  he  should  speak  with  her,  gaze  upon  her,  for  a 
long,  long  hour.  She  was  gentle,  meek,  pious  ;  in  everything 
the  exquisite  antithesis  of  such  a  woman  as  Heliodora.  Out 
of  very  humility  she  allowed  herself  to  believe  that  Basil 
had  ceased  to  love  her.  How  persuade  her,  against  the  pure 
loyalty  of  her  heart,  that  he  had  even  plotted  her  surrender 
to  an  unknown  fate  ?  What  proof  of  that  could  he  devise  ? 
Did  he  succeed  in  overcoming  her  doubts,  would  he  not 
have  gone  far  towards  winning  her  gratitude  ? 

She  would  shed  tears  again ;  it  gave  him  a  nameless  plea- 
sure to  see  Veranilda  weep. 

Thinking  thus,  he  strayed  aimlessly  and  unconsciously  in 
courts  and  corridors.  Night  would  come  again,  and  could  he 
trust  himself  through  the  long,  still  night  after  long  speech  with 
Veranilda  ?  A  blacker  thought  than  any  he  had  yet  nurtured 
began  to  stir  in  his  mind,  raising  its  head  like  the  viper  of 


DOOM  257 

an  hour  ago.     Were  she  but  his — his  irredeemably?    He 
tried  to  see  beyond  that,  but  his  vision  blurred. 

Her  nature  was  gentle,  timid ;  the  kind  of  nature,  he 
thought,  which  subdues  itself  to  the  irreparable.  So  soft,  so 
sweet,  so  utterly  woman,  might  she  not,  thinking  herself 
abandoned  by  Basil,  yield  heart  and  soul  to  a  man  whom  she 
saw  helpless  to  resist  a  passionate  love  of  her  ?  Or,  if  this 
hope  deceived  him,  was  there  no  artifice  with  which  to  cover 
his  ill-doing,  no  piece  of  guile  subtle  enough  to  cloak  such 
daring  infamy  ? 

He  was  in  the  atrium,  standing  on  the  spot  where  first  he  had 
talked  with  her.  As  then,  he  gazed  at  the  bronze  group  of  the 
candelabrum  ;  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  those  of  Proserpine, 

A  slave  entered  and  announced  to  him  a  visit  from  one  of 
the  priests  whom  he  was  going  to  see  when  the  meeting  at 
the  bridge  changed  his  purpose.  The  name  startled  him. 
Was  this  man  sent  by  God  ?  He  bade  introduce  the  visitor, 
and  in  a  moment  there  entered  a  white-bearded,  shoulder- 
bowed  ecclesiastic,  perspiring  from  the  sunshine,  who  greeted 
him  with  pleasant  cordiality.  This  priest  it  was — he  bore 
the  name  Gaudiosus — who  had  baptized  Marcian,  and  had 
given  him  in  childhood  religious  teaching  ;  a  good,  but  timid 
man,  at  all  times  readier  to  praise  than  to  reprove,  a  well- 
meaning  utterer  of  smooth  things,  closing  his  eyes  to  evil, 
which  confused  rather  than  offended  him.  From  the  same 
newsbearer,  who  told  him  of  Marcian's  arrival  at  the  villa, 
Gaudiosus  had  heard  of  a  mysterious  lady ;  but  it  was  far 
from  his  thought  to  meddle  with  the  morals  of  one  whose 
noble  birth  and  hereditary  position  of  patron  inspired  him 
with  respect ;  he  came  only  to  gossip  about  the  affairs  of  the 
time.  They  sat  down  together,  Marcian  glad  of  the  distrac- 
tion. But  scarce  had  they  been  talking  for  five  minutes, 
when  again  the  servant  presented  himself. 

'  What  now  ?  '  asked  his  master  impatiently. 

'  My  lord,  at  the  gate  is  the  lord  Basil.' 

Marcian  started  up. 

'  Basil  ?     How  equipped  and  attended?' 

R 


258  VERANILDA 

'  Armed,  on  horseback,  and  with  a  number  of  armed  horse- 
men.' 

*  Withdraw,  and  wait  outside  till  I  call  you.' 

Marcian  turned  to  the  presbyter.  His  cheeks  were  flushed, 
his  eyes  strangely  bright. 

'  Here,'  he  said,  in  low,  hurried  tones,  '  comes  an  evil  man, 
a  deep-dyed  traitor,  with  the  aspect  of  friendliest  integrity. 
I  am  glad  you  are  with  me.  I  have  no  leisure  now  to  tell  you 
the  story  ;  you  shall  hear  it  afterwards.  What  I  ask  of  you, 
reverend  father,  is  to  bear  me  out  in  all  I  say,  to  corroborate, 
if  asked  to  do  so,  all  I  state  to  him.  You  may  rely  upon  the 
truth  of  every  word  I  shall  utter ;  and  may  be  assured  that, 
in  doing  this,  you  serve  only  the  cause  of  good.  Let  it  not 
surprise  you  that  I  receive  the  man  with  open  arms.  He  was 
my  dear  friend ;  I  have  only  of  late  discovered  his  infamy, 
and  for  the  gravest  reasons,  which  you  shall  learn,  I  am 
obliged  to  mask  my  knowledge.  Beloved  father,  you  will 
give  me  your  countenance  ? ' 

'  I  will,  I  will,'  replied  Gaudiosus  nervously.  '  You  would 
not  deceive  me,  I  well  know,  dear  son.' 

'God  forbid!' 

Marcian  summoned  the  waiting  servant,  and  ordered  that 
the  traveller  should  be  straightway  admitted.  A  few  minutes 
passed  in  absolute  silence,  then,  as  the  two  stood  gazing 
towards  the  entrance,  they  saw  the  gleam  of  a  casque  and  of 
a  breastplate,  and  before  them  stood  Basil.  His  arms  ex- 
tended, Marcian  stepped  forward. 

'  So  soon,  O  brave  Basil ! '  he  exclaimed.  '  What  speed 
you  must  have  made !  How  long  is  it  since  my  letter 
reached  you  ? ' 

There  passed  the  semblance  of  an  embrace  between  them. 
Basil  was  death  pale ;  he  spoke  in  hollow  tones,  as  though 
his  tongue  were  parched,  and  looked  with  bloodshot  eyes 
from  Marcian  to  the  ecclesiastic. 

*  I  am  travel-worn.     Your  hospitality  must  restore  me.' 

'  That  it  shall,'  replied  Marcian.  '  Or,  better  still,'  he 
added,  'the  hospitality  of  my  father  Gaudiosus.'  He 


DOOM  259 

touched  the  priest's  arm,  as  if  affectionately.  'For  here 
there  is  little  solace;  barely  one  chamber  habitable.  You 
have  often  heard  me  describe,  O  Basil,  my  poor,  ruinous 
island  villa,  and  now  at  length  you  behold  it.  I  did  not 
think  you  would  pass  this  way,  or  I  would  have  prepared  for 
your  fitting  reception.  By  the  greatest  chance  you  find  me 
here ;  and  to-morrow  I  must  be  gone.  But  scarce  two 
thousand  paces  from  here  is  the  dwelling  of  this  reverend 
man,  who  will  entertain  you  fittingly,  and  give  you  the  care 
you  need ;  for  it  seems  to  me,  dear  Basil,  that  you  are  more 
than  wearied.' 

The  listener  nodded,  and  let  himself  drop  upon  a  seat 
near  to  where  Marcian  was  standing. 

'  What  have  you  to  tell  me  ? '  he  asked  under  his  breath. 

'  Nothing  good,  alas  ! '  was  the  murmured  reply. 

'  Shall  we  speak  in  private  ? ' 

'  Nay,  it  is  needless.    All  my  secrets  lie  open  to  Gaudiosus.' 

Again  Basil  cast  a  glance  at  the  presbyter,  who  had  seated 
himself  and  appeared  to  be  absorbed  in  thought. 

'Do  you  mean,'  he  asked,  'that  something  new  has  be- 
fallen?' 

His  eyes  were  upon  Marcian,  and  Marcian's  upon  those  of 
Proserpine. 

'Yes,  something  new.  The  deacon  of  whom  you  know 
has  left  Rome,  accompanying  the  Pope  on  his  journey  east- 
ward. And  with  him  he  has  taken ' 

A  name  was  shaped  upon  the  speaker's  lips,  but  whether 
of  purpose,  or  because  his  voice  failed  him,  it  found  no 
utterance. 

'Veranilda?' 

As  Basil  spoke,  his  eye  was  caught  by  the  movement  of 
a  curtain  at  the  back  of  the  room.  The  curtain  was  pushed 
aside,  and  there  appeared  the  figure  of  a  maiden,  pale, 
beautiful.  Marcian  did  not  see  her,  nor  yet  did  the  priest. 

'Veranilda  ? '  repeated  Basil,  in  the  same  questioning  tone. 
He  leaned  forward,  his  hand  upon  his  wrist 

'  She — alas ! '  was  Marcian's  reply. 


260  VERANILDA 

'  Liar !  traitor !  devil ! ' 

At  each  word,  Basil's  dagger  drank  blood  up  to  the  hilt. 
With  his  furious  voice  blended  a  yell  of  terror,  of  agony,  a 
faint  cry  of  horror  from  Gaudiosus,  and  a  woman's  scream. 
Then  came  silence. 

The  priest  dropped  to  his  knees  by  Marcian's  prostrate 
form.  Basil,  the  stained  weapon  in  his  crimson  hand,  stared 
at  Veranilda,  who  also  had  fallen. 

' Man  !     What  hast  thou  done? '  gasped  Gaudiosus. 

The  trembling,  senile  tones  wakened  Basil  as  if  from  a 
trance.  He  thrust  his  dagger  into  its  sheath,  stepped  to  the 
back  of  the  room,  and  bent  over  the  white  loveliness  that 
lay  still. 

'  Is  it  death  ? '  he  murmured. 

c  Death  !  death  ! '  answered  the  priest,  who  had  just  heard 
Marcian's  last  sob. 

1 1  speak  not  of  that  perjured  wretch,*  said  Basil.  '  Come 
hither.' 

Gaudiosus  obeyed,  and  looked  with  wonder  at  the  un- 
conscious face. 

'  Who  is  this  ? '  he  asked. 

'  No  matter  who.     Does  she  live  ? ' 

Basil  had  knelt,  and  taken  one  of  the  little  hands  in  both 
his  own,  staining  it  with  the  blood  of  Marcian. 

1 1  can  feel  no  throb  of  life,'  he  said,  speaking  coldly, 
mechanically. 

The  priest  bent,  and  put  his  cheek  to  her  lips. 

'  She  lives.  This  is  but  a  swoon.  Help  me  to  bear  her 
to  the  couch.' 

But  Basil  took  the  slender  body  in  his  arms,  and  carried 
it  like  that  of  a  child.  When  he  had  laid  it  down,  he  looked 
at  Gaudiosus  sternly. 

*  Have  you  authority  in  this  hoi^se  ? ' 

'  Some  little,  perhaps.     I  know  not.     What  is  your  will  ? ' 

Utterly  confounded,  his  eyes  dropping  moisture,  his  limbs 
shaken  as  if  with  palsy,  the  priest  babbled  his  reply. 

'  Use  any  power  you  have,'  continued  Basil,  '  to  prevent 


DOOM  261 

more  bloodshed.  Outside  the  gates  are  men  of  mine.  Bid 
the  porter  admit  them  to  the  outer  court.  Then  call  thither 
two  servants,  and  let  them  bear  away  that — whither  you  will. 
After,  you  shall  hear  more.' 

Like  an  obedient  slave,  Gaudiosus  sped  on  his  errand. 
Basil  the  while  stood  gazing  at  Veranilda ;  but  he  did  not 
go  very  near  to  her,  and  his  look  had  nothing  of  tenderness. 
He  saw  the  priest  return,  followed  by  two  men,  heard  him 
whisper  to  them,  saw  them  take  up  and  carry  away  their 
master's  corpse ;  all  this  as  if  it  did  not  regard  him.  Again 
he  turned  his  gaze  upon  Veranilda.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
her  lips,  her  eyelids  moved.  He  bent  forward,  heard  a  sigh. 
Then  the  blue  eyes  opened,  but  as  yet  saw  nothing. 

Gaudiosus  reappeared,  and  Basil  beckoned  him. 

'  You  do  not  know  her  ? '  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

'  I  never  looked  upon  her  face  till  now,'  was  the  reply. 

At  the  sound  of  their  voices  Veranilda  stirred,  tried  to 
rouse  herself,  uttered  a  sound  of  distress. 

'  Speak  to  her,'  said  Basil. 

Gaudiosus  approached  the  couch,  and  spoke  soothing 
words. 

'What  dreadful  thought  is  this?  '  said  Veranilda.  '  What 
have  I  seen  ? ' 

The  priest  whispered  an  adjuration  to  prayer.  But  she, 
raising  her  head,  cast  terrified  glances  about  the  hall.  Basil 
had  moved  further  away,  and  she  did  not  seem  to  be  aware  of 
his  presence. 

'  How  long  is  it,'  he  asked,  with  his  eyes  upon  Gaudiosus, 
'  since  Marcian  came  from  Rome  ? ' 

'  This  is  the  fourth  day.  So  I  have  been  told.  1  myself 
saw  him  for  the  first  time  not  an  hour — nay,  not  half  an  hour 
ago.' 

'You  knew  not  that  he  brought  her  with  him  ? ' 

Basil,  without  looking  in  that  direction,  signalled  with  his 
head  towards  Veranilda. 

'  I  had  heard  of  some  companion  unnamed.' 

'  He  had  not  spoken  of  her  to  you  ? ' 


262  VERANILDA 

1  Not  a  word.' 

On  the  tesselated  floor  where  Marcian  had  fallen  was  a 
pool  of  blood.  Basil  only  now  perceived  it,  and  all  at  once  a 
violent  shudder  went  over  him. 

'  Man  of  God ! '  he  exclaimed  in  a  voice  of  sudden  passion, 
terribly  resonant  after  the  dull,  hard  accents  of  his  question- 
ing. 'You  look  upon  me  with  abhorrence,  and,  perhaps, 
with  fear.  Hearken  to  my  vindication.  He  whom  I  have 
slain  was  the  man  I  held  in  dearest  friendship.  I  believed 
him  true  to  the  heart's  core.  Yesterday — was  it  but  yester- 
day?— O  blessed  Christ! — it  seems  to  me  so  long  ago — I 
learned  that  his  heart  was  foul  with  treachery.  Long,  long, 
he  has  lied  to  me,  pretending  to  seek  with  me  for  one  I  had 
lost,  my  plighted  love.  In  secret  he  robbed  me  of  her. 
Heard  you  not  his  answer  when,  to  catch  the  lie  on  his  very 
lips,  I  asked  what  news  he  could  give  me  of  her.  I  knew 
that  she  was  here ;  his  own  servant  had  secretly  avowed  the 
truth  to  me.  And  you  heard  him  say  that  she  was  gone  on 
far  travel.  Therefore  it  was  that  he  would  not  harbour  me  in 
his  house — me,  his  friend.  In  the  name  of  the  Crucified,  did 
I  not  well  to  lay  him  low  ? ' 

Somewhat  recovered  from  the  emotions  which  had  en- 
feebled him,  Gaudiosus  held  up  his  head,  and  made  solemn 
answer. 

'  Not  yours  was  it  to  take  vengeance.  The  God  to  whom 
you  appeal  has  said :  "Thou  shalt  do  no  murder." ' 

'Consider  his  crime,'  returned  the  other.  '  In  the  moment 
when  he  swore  falsely  I  lifted  up  my  eyes,  and  behold,  she 
herself  stood  before  me.  She  whom  I  loved,  who  had  pledged 
herself  to  me,  who  long  ago  would  have  been  my  wife  but  for 
the  enemy  who  came  between  us — she,  hidden  here  with  him, 
become  a  wanton  in  his  embraces ' 

A  low  cry  of  anguish  interrupted  him.  He  turned.  Veran- 
ilda  had  risen  and  drawn  near. 

1  Basil !     You  know  not  what  you  say.' 

'  Nor  what  I  could  say,'  he  replied,  his  eyes  blazing  with 
scorn.  '  You,  who  were  truth  itself,  have  you  so  well  learned 


DOOM  263 

to  lie  ?  Talk  on.  Tell  me  that  he  held  you  here  perforce, 
and  that  you  passed  the  days  and  the  nights  in  weeping. 
Have  I  not  heard  of  your  smiles  and  your  contentment? 
Whither  did  you  stray  this  morning  ?  Did  you  go  into  the 
wood  to  say  your  orisons?' 

Veranilda  turned  to  the  priest. 

'  Servant  of  God !     Hear  me,  unhappy  that  I  am ! ' 

With  a  gesture  of  entreaty  she  flung  out  her  hands,  and, 
in  doing  so,  saw  that  one  of  them  was  red.  Her  woebegone 
look  changed  to  terror. 

'  What  is  this  ?  His  blood  is  upon  me — on  my  hand,  my 
garment.  When  did  I  touch  him?  Holy  father,  whither 
has  he  gone  ?  Does  he  live  ?  Oh,  tell  me  if  he  lives ! ' 

'  Come  hence  with  me,'  said  Gaudiosus.  'Come  where  I 
may  hear  you  utter  the  truth  before  God.' 

But  Veranilda  was  as  one  distraught.  She  threw  herself 
on  to  her  knees. 

'  Tell  me  he  lives.  He  is  but  sorely  hurt  ?  He  can  speak  ? 
Whither  have  they  carried  him  ? ' 

Confirmed  in  his  damning  thought  by  every  syllable  she 
uttered,  Basil  strode  away. 

'  Lead  her  where  you  will,'  he  shouted.  '  I  stay  under  this 
abhorred  roof  only  till  my  men  have  eaten  and  taken  rest.' 

Without  knowing  it,  he  had  stepped  into  the  pool  of  blood, 
and  a  red  track  was  left  behind  him  as  he  went  forth  from 
the  hall. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  RED  HAND 

RESTING  at  length  from  desire  and  intrigue,  Marcian  lay  cold 
upon  the  bed  where  he  had  passed  his  haunted  nights.  About 
his  corpse  were  gathered  all  the  servants  of  the  house  ;  men, 
with  anger  on  their  brows,  muttering  together,  and  women 
wailing  low  because  of  fear.  The  girl  who  had  met  the 
horsemen  by  the  bridge  told  her  story,  whence  it  became 
evident  that  Marcian's  death  was  the  result  of  private  quarrel; 
but  some  of  the  slaves  declared  that  this  armed  company 
came  in  advance  of  the  Gothic  host ;  and  presently  the  loss 
of  their  master  was  all  but  forgotten  in  anxiety  as  to  their 
own  fate  at  the  hands  of  the  Emperor. 

This  talk  was  interrupted  by  the  approach  of  Basil's  men, 
who  came  to  seek  a  meal  for  themselves  and  forage  for  their 
horses.  Having  no  choice  but  to  obey,  the  servants  went 
about  the  work  required  of  them.  A  quiet  fell  upon  the  house. 
The  strangers  talked  little,  and,  when  they  spoke,  subdued 
their  voices.  In  still  chambers  and  corridors  was  heard  now 
and  then  a  sound  of  weeping. 

Basil,  though  he  had  given  orders  for  departure  as  soon  as 
the  meal  was  done,  knew  not  whither  his  journey  should  be 
directed.  A  paralysis  of  thought  and  will  kept  him  pacing 
alone  in  the  courtyard  ;  food  he  could  not  touch  ;  of  repose 
he  was  incapable ;  and  though  he  constantly  lifted  up  his 
blood-stained  hand,  to  gaze  at  it  as  if  in  bewildered  horror, 
he  did  not  even  think  of  washing  the  blood  away.  At 
moments  he  lost  consciousness  of  what  he  had  done,  his 
mind  straying  to  things  remote ;  then  the  present  came  back 

264 


THE  RED   HAND  265 

upon  him  with  a  shock,  seeming,  however,  to  strike  on 
numbed  senses,  so  that  he  had  to  say  to  himself,  '  I  have 
slain  Marcian,'  before  he  could  fully  understand  his  suffering. 

Veranilda  was  now  scarce  present  to  his  mind  at  all. 
Something  vaguely  outlined  hovered  in  the  background ; 
something  he  durst  not  look  at  or  think  about ;  the  sole  thing 
in  the  world  that  had  reality  for  him  was  the  image  of 
Marcian — stabbed,  shrieking,  falling,  dead.  Every  minute 
was  the  fearful  scene  re-enacted.  More  than  once  he  checked 
himself  in  his  walk,  seeming  to  be  about  to  step  on  Marcian's 
body. 

At  length,  seeing  a  shadow  draw  near,  he  raised  his  eyes 
and  beheld  Gaudiosus.  He  tried  to  speak,  but  found  that 
his  tongue  clave  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth.  Automatically  he 
crossed  himself,  then  caught  the  priest's  hand,  and  knelt  and 
kissed  it. 

'  Rise,  my  son,'  said  Gaudiosus,  '  for  I  would  talk  with  you.' 

On  one  side  of  the  courtyard  was  a  portico  with  seats,  and 
thither  the  old  man  led. 

'  Unless,'  he  began  gravely,  '  unless  the  author  of  all  false- 
hood— who  is  so  powerful  over  women — has  entered  into  this 
maiden  to  baffle  and  mislead  me  utterly,  I  feel  assured  that 
she  is  chaste ;  not  merely  unsullied  in  the  flesh,  but  as  pure 
of  heart  as  her  fallen  nature  may  permit  a  woman  to  be.' 

Basil  gazed  at  him  darkly. 

'  My  father,  how  can  you  believe  it  ?  Did  you  not  hear 
her  lament  because  the  man  was  dead?  It  is  indeed  the 
devil  that  beguiles  you.' 

Gaudiosus  bent  his  head,  and  pondered  anxiously. 

1  Tell  me,'  he  said  at  length,  '  all  her  story,  that  I  may 
compare  it  with  what  I  have  heard  from  her  own  lips.' 

Slowly  at  first,  and  confusedly,  with  hesitations,  repetitions, 
long  pauses,  Basil  recited  the  history  of  Veranilda,  so  far  as 
he  knew  it.  The  priest  listened  and  nodded,  and  when 
silence  came,  continued  the  narrative.  If  Veranilda  spoke 
truth,  she  had  never  seen  Marcian  until  he  took  her  from  the 
convent  at  Praeneste.  Moreover,  Marcian  had  never  uttered 


266  VERANILDA 

to  her  a  word  of  love ;  in  his  house  she  had  lived  as  chastely 
as  among  the  holy  sisters. 

'What  did  she  here,  then?'  asked  Basil  bitterly.  'Why 
did  he  bring  her  here  ?  You  know,  O  father,  that  it  was  not 
in  fulfilment  of  his  promise  to  me,  for  you  heard  his  shame- 
less lie  when  I  questioned  him.' 

'  He  told  her,'  replied  the  priest,  *  that  she  sojourned  here 
only  until  he  could  put  her  under  the  protection  of  the  Gothic 
King.' 

'Of  Totila?'  cried  Basil.  'Nay,  for  all  I  know,  he  may 
have  thought  of  that — his  passion  being  appeased.' 

Even  as  he  spoke  he  remembered  Sagaris  and  the  letter 
written  in  Gothic.  Some  motive  of  interest  might,  indeed, 
have  prompted  Marcian  to  this  step.  None  the  less  was  he 
Veranilda's  lover.  Would  he  otherwise  have  kept  her  here 
with  him,  alone,  and  not  rather  have  continued  the  journey, 
with  all  speed,  till  he  reached  Totila's  camp  ? 

'  When  I  left  her,'  pursued  Gaudiosus,  whose  confidence  in 
his  own  judgment  was  already  shaken  by  the  young  man's 
vehemence,  '  I  spoke  in  private  with  certain  of  the  bonds- 
women, who  declared  to  me  that  they  could  avouch  the 
maiden's  innocence  since  her  coming  hither — until  to-day's 
sunrise.' 

Basil  laughed  with  scorn. 

'Until  to-day's  sunrise?  And  pray,  good  father,  what 
befell  her  at  that  moment  ?  What  whisper  the  Argus-eyed 
bondswomen  ? ' 

'  They  tell  me,'  replied  the  priest,  that  she  went  forth  and 
met  Marcian,  and  walked  with  him  in  a  wood,  her  own  woman 
having  been  sent  back  to  the  villa.  This  troubled  me ;  but 
her  voice,  her  countenance ' 

'Helped  by  the  devil,'  broke  in  Basil.  '  Reverend  man, 
do  not  seek  to  deceive  yourself,  or  to  solace  me  with  a  vain 
hope.  I  pray  you,  did  Marcian,  when  you  came  to  visit  him, 
speak  of  a  lady  whose  virtue  he  was  sworn  to  guard  ?  Plainly, 
not  a  word  fell  from  him.  Yet  assuredly  he  would  have 
spoken  had  things  been  as  you  pretend.' 


THEREDHAND  267 

Gaudiosus,  bent  double,  a  hand  propping  his  white- 
bearded  chin,  mused  for  a  little  with  sadded  air. 

1  Lord  Basil,'  he  resumed  at  length,  '  somewhat  more  have 
I  to  say  to  you.  I  live  far  from  the  world,  and  hear  little  of  its 
rumour.  Until  this  day  your  name  was  unknown  to  me,  and 
of  good  concerning  you  I  have  to  this  hour  heard  nothing 
save  from  your  own  lips.  May  I  credit  this  report  you  make 
of  yourself?  Or  should  I  rather  believe  what  Marcian,  in 
brief  words,  declared  to  me  when  he  heard  that  you  were  at 
his  gate  ? ' 

The  speaker  paused,  as  if  to  collect  courage. 

'  He  spoke  ill  of  me  ? '  asked  Basil. 

'  He  spoke  much  ill.  He  accused  you  of  disloyalty  in 
friendship,  saying  that  he  had  but  newly  learnt  how  you  had 
deceived  him.  More  than  this  he  had  not  time  to  tell.' 

Basil  looked  into  the  old  man's  rheumy  eyes. 

'You  do  well  to  utter  this,  good  father.  Tell  me  one 
thing  more.  Yonder  maiden,  does  she  breathe  the  same 
charge  against  me  ? ' 

'  Not  so,'  replied  Gaudiosus.     '  Of  you  she  said  no  evil.' 

'  Yet  I  scarce  think  ' — he  smiled  coldly — c  that  she  made 
profession  of  love  for  me  ? ' 

1  My  son,  her  speech  was  maidenly.  She  spoke  of  herself 
as  erstwhile  your  betrothed  ;  no  more  than  that.' 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  the  priest  rose.  He  had  an 
uneasy  look,  as  if  he  feared  that  infirmity  of  will  and  fond- 
ness for  gossip  had  betrayed  him  into  some  neglect  of  spiritual 
obligation. 

'  It  is  better,'  he  said,  'that  we  should  converse  no  more. 
I  know  not  what  your  purposes  may  be,  nor  do  the  y  concern 
me.  I  remain  here  to  pray  by  the  dead,  and  I  shall  despatch 
a  messenger  to  my  brother  presbyter,  that  we  may  prepare 
for  the  burial.  Remember,'  he  raised  his  head,  and  his  voice 
struck  a  deeper  note,  'that  the  guilt  of  blood  is  upon  you, 
and  that  no  plea  of  earthly  passion  will  avail  before  the 
Almighty  Judge.  Behold  your  hand — even  so,  but  far  more 
deeply,  have  you  stained  your  soul. 


268  VERANILDA 

Basil  scarce  heard.  Numbness  had  crept  over  him  again ; 
he  stared  at  the  doorway  by  which  the  priest  re-entered  the 
house,  and  only  after  some  minutes  recalled  enough  of  the 
old  man's  last  words  to  look  upon  his  defiled  hand.  Then 
he  called  aloud,  summoning  any  slave  who  might  hear 
him,  and  when  the  doorkeeper  came  timidly  from  a  recess 
where  he  had  been  skulking,  bade  him  bring  water.  Having 
cleansed  himself,  he  walked  by  an  outer  way  to  the  rear  of 
the  villa;  for  he  durst  not  pass  through  the  atrium. 

Here  his  men  were  busy  over  their  meal,  sitting  or  sprawl- 
ing in  a  shadowed  place,  the  slaves  waiting  upon  them. 
With  a  reminder  that  they  must  hold  themselves  ready  to 
ride  at  any  moment,  he  passed  on  through  a  large,  wild 
garden,  and  at  length,  where  a  grove  of  box-trees  surrounded 
the  ruins  of  a  little  summer-house,  cast  himself  to  the  ground. 

His  breast  heaved,  his  eyes  swelled  and  smarted,  but  he 
could  not  shed  tears.  Face  downwards,  like  a  man  who  bites 
the  earth  in  his  last  agony,  he  lay  quivering.  So  did  an  hour 
or  more  pass  by. 

He  was  roused  by  the  voices  of  his  men,  who  were  search- 
ing and  calling  for  him.  With  an  effort,  he  rose  to  his 
feet,  and  stepped  out  into  the  sunshine,  when  he  learnt  that 
a  troop  of  soldiers  had  just  ridden  up  to  the  villa,  and  that 
their  captain,  who  had  already  entered,  was  asking  for  him 
by  name.  Careless  what  might  await  him,  Basil  followed  the 
men  as  far  as  the  inner  court,  and  there  stood  Venantius. 

'  I  surprise  you,'  cried  out  the  genial  voice  with  a  cheery 
laugh.  '  You  had  five  hours  start  of  me.  Pray,  dear  lord, 
when  did  you  get  here  ? ' 

Basil  could  make  no  reply,  and  the  other,  closely  observ- 
ing his  strange  countenance,  went  on  to  explain  that,  scarcely 
started  from  Aesernia  on  his  way  to  the  king,  Marcian's 
messenger  had  met  with  Totila  himself,  who  was  nearer  than 
had  been  thought.  After  reading  the  letter,  Totila  had  come 
on  rapidly  to  Aesernia,  and  had  forthwith  despatched  Venan- 
tius to  the  villa  by  Arpinum. 

'  You  guess  my  mission,  lord  Basil,'  he  pursued,  with  bluff 


THE   RED   HAND  269 

good-humour.  '  Dullard  that  I  was,  the  talk  of  a  fair  lady 
travelling  in  Marcian's  charge  never  brought  to  my  mind 
that  old  story  of  Surrentum.  Here  is  our  royal  Totila  all 
eagerness  to  see  this  maiden — if  maiden  still  she  be.  What 
say  you  on  that  point,  dear  lord  ?  Nay,  look  not  so  fiercely 
at  me.  I  am  not  here  to  call  any  one  to  account,  but  only 
to  see  that  the  Gothic  beauty  comes  safe  to  Aesernia  as 
soon  as  may  be.' 

'You  will  find  her  within,'  muttered  Basil. 

1  And  Marcian  ?  I  might  have  thought  I  came  inoppor- 
tunely to  this  dwelling,  but  that  he  himself  wrote  to  the  king 
that  the  lady  was  here.' 

'You  are  assured  of  that  ? '  Basil  asked,  under  his  breath. 

'  I  have  Totila's  word  for  it,  at  all  events.  But  you  seem 
indisposed  for  talk,  lord  Basil,  and  my  business  is  with 
Marcian.  The  slaves  all  look  scared,  and  can't  or  won't 
answer  a  plain  question.  I  have  no  time  to  waste.  Tell 
me,  I  pray  you,  where  the  lord  of  the  villa  may  be 
found.' 

Basil  summoned  one  of  his  followers. 

'Conduct  the  lord  Venantius  to  Marcian's  chamber.' 

It  was  done.  Basil  remained  standing  in  the  same  spot, 
his  eyes  cast  down,  till  a  quick  step  announced  the  captain's 
return.  Venantius  came  close  up  to  him,  and  spoke  in  a 
grave  but  not  unfriendly  voice : 

'  The  priest  has  told  me  what  he  saw,  but  will  not  say 
more.  I  ask  you  nothing,  lord  Basil.  You  will  make  your 
defence  to  the  king.' 

'  Be  it  so.' 

'My  men  must  rest  for  an  hour,'  continued  Venantius. 
'We  shall  ride  this  afternoon  as  far  as  Aquinum,  and  there 
pass  the  night.  I  go  now  to  speak  with  Veranilda.' 

'  As  you  will.' 

Basil  withdrew  into  the  portico,  sat  down,  and  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands.  Fever  consumed  him,  and  a  dreadful 
melancholy  weighed  upon  his  spirit.  At  a  respectful  distance 
from  him,  his  followers  had  assembled,  ready  for  departure. 


270  VERANILDA 

The  soldiers  who  had  come  with  Venantius,  a  score  in 
number,  were  eating  and  drinking  outside  the  gates.  Within, 
all  was  quiet.  Half  an  hour  elapsed,  and  Venantius  again 
came  forward.  Seeing  Basil  in  the  shadow  of  the  portico, 
he  went  and  sat  beside  him,  and  began  to  speak  with  rough 
but  well-meaning  solace.  Why  this  heaviness  ?  If  he  sur- 
mised aright,  Basil  had  but  avenged  himself  as  any  man 
would  have  done.  For  his  own  part,  he  had  never  thought 
enough  of  any  woman  to  kill  a  man  on  her  account ;  but 
such  little  troubles  were  of  everyday  occurrence,  and  must 
not  be  taken  too  much  to  heart.  He  had  seen  this  Gothic 
damsel  of  whom  there  had  been  so  much  rumour,  and,  by 
Diana !  (if  the  oath  were  not  inappropriate)  her  face  deserved 
all  that  was  said  of  it.  His  rival  being  out  of  the  way,  why 
should  not  Basil  pluck  up  cheer  ?  Totila  would  not  deal 
harshly  in  such  a  matter  as  this,  and  more  likely  than  not 
he  would  be  disposed  to  give  the  maiden  to  a  Roman  of 
noble  race,  his  great  desire  being  to  win  all  Romans  by 
generosity. 

1  Yonder  priest  tells  me,'  he  added,  '  that  you  were  over 
hasty ;  that  you  struck  on  a  mere  suspicion.  And  methinks 
he  may  be  right.  By  the  Holy  Cross,  I  could  well  believe 
this  maiden  a  maiden  in  very  deed.  I  never  looked  upon 
a  purer  brow,  an  eye  that  spoke  more  innocently.  Hark  ye, 
my  good  Basil,  I  am  told  that  you  have  not  spoken  with 
her.  If  you  would  fain  do  so  before  we  set  forth,  I  will 
be  no  hinderer.  Go,  if  you  will,  into  yonder  room' — he 
pointed  to  a  door  near  by — '  and  when  she  descends  (I  have 
but  to  call),  you  shall  see  her  undisturbed.' 

For  a  moment  Basil  sat  motionless ;  then,  without  a  word, 
he  rose  and  went  whither  Venantius  directed  him.  But  a 
few  minutes  passed  before  he  saw  Veranilda  enter.  She 
was  clad  for  travel,  a  veil  over  her  face ;  this,  and  the  shadow 
in  which  Basil  stood,  made  her  at  first  unaware  of  his  pre- 
sence, for  Venantius  had  only  requested  her  to  enter  this  room 
until  the  carriage  was  ready.  Standing  with  bowed  head,  she 
sobbed. 


THE   RED   HAND  271 

'Why  do  you  weep?'  demanded  an  abrupt  voice,  which 
made  her  draw  back  trembling. 

Basil  moved  a  little  towards  her. 

'  You  weep  for  him  ? '  he  added  in  the  same  pitiless  tone. 

'  For  him,  for  you,  and  for  myself,  alas  !  alas  ! ' 

The  subdued  anguish  of  her  voice  did  not  touch  Basil. 
He  burned  with  hatred  of  her  and  of  the  dead  man. 

'  Shed  no  tears  for  me.  I  am  cured  of  a  long  folly.  And 
for  you  consolation  will  not  be  slow  in  coming.  Who  knows 
but  you  may  throw  your  spell  upon  Totila  himself.' 

'You  know  not  what  you  say,'  replied  Veranilda;  not,  as 
when  she  used  the  words  before,  in  accents  quivering  from  a 
stricken  heart,  but  with  sorrowful  dignity  and  self-command. 
'  Is  it  Basil  who  speaks  thus  ?  Were  it  only  the  wrong  done 
me  that  I  had  to  bear,  I  could  keep  silence,  waiting  until  God 
restored  your  justice  and  your  gentleness.  But,  though  in 
nothing  blameworthy,  I  am  the  cause  of  what  has  come 
about;  for  had  I  not  entered  that  room  when  I  did,  you 
would  not  have  struck  the  fatal  blow.  Listen  then,  O  Basil, 
whilst  I  make  known  to  you  what  happened  before  you 
came.' 

She  paused  to  control  herself. 

'  I  must  go  back  to  the  night  when  I  left  the  convent.  No 
one  had  told  me  I  was  to  go  away.  In  the  middle  of  the 
night  I  was  aroused  and  led  forth,  with  me  the  woman  who 
served  me.  We  had  travelled  an  hour  or  two,  perhaps,  when 
some  one  standing  by  the  carriage  spoke  to  me,  some  one  who 
said  he  was  Marcian  the  friend  of  Basil,  and  bade  me  have 
no  fears,  for  Basil  awaited  me  at  the  end  of  the  journey. 
The  next  day  he  spoke  to  me  again,  this  time  face  to  face, 
but  only  a  few  words.  We  came  to  this  villa.  You  have 
been  told,  by  I  know  not  whom,  that  I  was  light  of  heart.  It 
is  true,  for  I  believed  what  Marcian  had  said  to  me,  and 
nothing  had  befallen  to  disturb  my  gladness.  I  lived  with 
my  serving  woman  privately,  in  quiet  and  hope.  This  morn- 
ing, yielding,  alas !  to  a  wish  which  I  thought  harmless,  I 
went  forth  with  my  attendant  to  the  waterfall.  As  I  stood 


272  VERANILDA 

gazing  at  it,  the  lord  Marcian  came  forth  on  horseback.  He 
alighted  to  speak  with  me,  and  presently  asked  if  I  would  go 
to  see  another  fall  of  the  river,  across  the  island.  I  consented. 
As  we  went,  he  dismissed  my  servant,  and  I  did  not  know 
what  he  had  done  (thinking  she  still  followed),  until,  when 
we  were  in  a  wood  at  the  water's  edge,  I  could  no  longer  see 
the  woman,  and  Marcian  told  me  he  had  bidden  her  go  to  fetch 
seats  for  us.  Then  he  began  to  speak,  and  what  he  said,  how 
shall  I  tell  you  ? ' 

There  was  another  brief  silence.  Basil  did  not  stir;  his 
eyes  were  bent  sternly  upon  the  veiled  visage. 

'Was  it  evil  in  his  heart  that  shaped  such  words?  Or  had 
he  been  deceived  by  some  other?  He  said  that  Basil  had 
forgotten  me ;  that  Basil  loved,  and  would  soon  wed,  a  lady 
in  Rome.  More  than  that,  he  said  that  Basil  was  plotting  to 
get  me  into  his  power,  his  purpose  being  to  deliver  me  to  the 
Greeks,  who  would  take  me  to  Constantinople.  But  Marcian, 
so  he  declared,  had  rescued  me  in  time,  and  I  was  to  be 
guarded  by  the  King  of  the  Goths.' 

The  listener  moved,  raising  his  arm  and  letting  it  fall 
again.  But  he  breathed  no  word. 

'This  did  he  tell  me,'  she  added.  'I  went  back  to  the 
villa  to  my  chamber.  I  sat  thinking,  I  know  not  how  long ; 
I  know  not  how  long.  Then,  unable  to  remain  any  longer 
alone,  driven  by  my  dreadful  doubt,  I  came  forth  to  seek 
Marcian.  I  descended  the  stairs  to  the  atrium.  You  saw 
me — alas  !  alas ! ' 

Basil  drew  nearer  to  her. 

'  He  had  spoken  no  word  of  love  ? ' 

'  No  word.     I  had  no  fear  of  that.' 

'Why,  then,  did  he  frame  these  lies,  these  hellish 
lies?' 

'  Alas ! '  cried  Veranilda,  clasping  her  hands  above  her 
head.  'Did  he  still  live,  the  truth  might  be  discovered. 
His  first  words  to  me,  in  the  night  when  he  stood  beside  the 
carriage,  sounded  so  kind  and  true;  he  named  himself  the 
friend  of  Basil,  said  that  Basil  awaited  me  at  the  journey's 


THE  RED   HAND  273 

end.  How  could  he  speak  so,  if  he  indeed  then  thought  you 
what  he  afterwards  said  ?  Oh,  were  he  alive,  to  stand  face  to 
face  with  me  again  ! ' 

'It  is  not  enough,'  asked  Basil  harshly,  '  that  I  tell  you  he 
lied?' 

She  did  not  on  the  instant  reply,  and  he,  possessed  with 
unreasoning  bitterness,  talked  wildly  on. 

'No!  You  believed  him,  and  believe  him  still.  I  can 
well  fancy  that  he  spoke  honestly  at  first ;  but  when  he  had 
looked  into  your  face,  when  he  had  talked  with  you,  some- 
thing tempted  him  to  villainy.  Go  1  Your  tears  and  your 
lamentations  betray  you.  It  is  not  of  me  that  you  think, 
but  of  him,  him,  only  him  !  c<  Oh,  were  he  alive ! "  Ay,  keep 
your  face  hidden ;  you  know  too  well  it  could  not  bear  my 
eyes  upon  it.' 

Veranilda  threw  back  the  long  veil,  and  stood  looking  at 
him. 

'  Eyes  red  with  weeping,'  he  exclaimed,  '  and  for  whom  ? 
If  you  were  true  to  me,  would  you  not  rejoice  that  I  had 
slain  my  enemy?  You  say  you  were  joyful  in  the  thought 
of  seeing  me  again?  You  see  me — and  with  what 
countenance  ? ' 

'I  see  not  Basil,'  she  murmured,  her  hands  upon  her 
breast. 

'You  see  a  false  lover,  an  ignoble  traitor — the  Basil  shown 
you  by  Marcian.  What  would  it  avail  me  to  speak  in  my 
own  defence?  His  voice  is  in  your  ears,  its  lightest  tone 
outweighing  my  most  solemn  oath.  "Oh,  that  he  were 
alive ! "  That  is  all  you  find  to  say  to  me.' 

'  I  know  you  not,'  sobbed  Veranilda.  '  Alas,  I  know  you 
not!' 

'  Nor  I  you.  I  dreamt  of  a  Veranilda  who  loved  so  purely 
and  so  constantly  that  not  a  thousand  slanderers  could  have 
touched  her  heart  with  a  shadow  of  mistrust.  But  who  are 
you — you  whom  the  first  gross  lie  of  a  man  lusting  for  your 
beauty  utterly  estranges  from  your  faith  ?  Who  are  you — who 
wail  for  the  liar's  death,  and  shrink  in  horror  from  the  hand 

S 


274  VERANILDA 

that  slew  him  ?  I  ever  heard  that  the  daughters  of  the  Goths 
were  chaste  and  true  and  fearless.  So  they  may  be — all  but 
one,  whose  birth  marked  her  for  faithlessness.' 

As  though  smitten  by  a  brutal  blow,  Veranilda  bowed  her 
head,  shuddering.  Once  more  she  looked  at  Basil,  for  an 
instant,  with  wide  eyes  of  fear;  then  hid  herself  beneath  the 
veil,  and  was  gone. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

THE  MOUNT  OF  THE  MONK 

BASIL  rode  with  his  own  man  apart  from  Venantius  and  the 
soldiers  who  guarded  the  conveyance  in  which  sat  Veranilda. 
Venantius,  for  his  part,  would  fain  have  lightened  the  way 
with  friendly  talk,  but  finding  Basil  irresponsive,  he  left  him 
to  his  gloomy  meditations.  And  so  they  came  to  Aquinum, 
where  they  passed  the  night 

By  way  of  precaution,  the  captain  set  a  guard  before  the 
house  in  which  his  fellow-traveller  slept,  and  at  daybreak, 
as  soon  as  he  had  risen,  one  of  the  soldiers  thus  employed 
reported  to  him  that  the  young  Roman  had  fallen  into 
such  distemper  that  it  seemed  doubtful  whether  he  could 
continue  the  journey;  a  servant  who  had  slept  at  Basil's 
door  declared  that  all  through  the  night  his  master  had 
talked  wildly,  like  one  fever-frenzied.  Venantius  visited  the 
sick  man,  and  found  him  risen,  but  plainly  in  poor  case  for 
travel. 

'Why,  you  will  never  mount  your  horse,'  he  opined,  after 
touching  Basil's  hand,  and  finding  it  on  fire.  '  This  is  what 
comes  of  a  queasy  conscience.  Take  heart,  man !  Are 
you  the  first  that  stuck  a  false  friend  between  the  ribs,  or 
the  first  to  have  your  love  kissed  against  her  will  ?  That  it 
was  against  her  will,  I  take  upon  myself  to  swear.  You  are 
too  fretful,  my  good  lord.  Come,  now !  What  are  we  to  do 
with  you  ? ' 

'I  can  ride  on,'  answered  Basil.  'Pay  no  heed  to  me,  and 
leave  me  in  peace,  I  pray  you.' 

He  was  helped  to  horseback,  and  the  cavalcade  went 

876 


276  VERANILDA 

forth  again  along  the  Latin  Way.  This  morning,  no  beam 
of  sunrise  shone  above  the  mountains;  the  heavens  were 
sullen,  and  a  hot  wind  blew  from  the  south.  Even  Ven- 
antius,  though  he  hummed  a  song  to  himself,  felt  the  sombre 
influence  of  the  air,  and  kept  glancing  uneasily  backwards  at 
the  death-pale  man,  who  rode  with  head  upon  his  breast. 
Scarcely  had  they  ridden  for  an  hour  at  foot-pace,  when  a 
shout  caught  the  captain's  ear ;  he  turned,  just  in  time  to  see 
Basil  dropping  to  the  ground. 

'  God's  thunder ! '  he  growled.  '  I  have  been  expecting  this. 
Well  if  he  dies,  it  may  save  the  king  some  trouble.' 

He  jumped  down,  and  went  to  Basil's  side.  At  first  the 
sufferer  could  not  speak,  but  when  water  had  been  given  him, 
he  gazed  at  Venantius  with  a  strange  smile,  and,  pointing 
before  him,  said  faintly : 

1  Is  not  yonder  Casinum  ? ' 

*  It  is.  We  will  bear  you  thither  for  harbourage.  Courage, 
friend ! ' 

'Above,  on  the  mountain/  continued  Basil  painfully, 
'dwells  my  kinsman  Benedict,  with  his  holy  men.  Could 
I  but  reach  the  monastery  ! ' 

1  Why,  perchance  you  may,'  replied  the  captain.  '  And  in 
truth  you  would  be  better  cared  for  there.' 

'  Help  me,  good  Venantius  ! '  panted  Basil,  with  eyes  of 
entreaty.  '  Let  me  die  in  the  monastery.' 

In  those  days  of  pestilence,  every  fever-stricken  person  was 
an  object  of  dread  to  all  but  the  most  loving  or  the  most 
courageous.  The  stalwart  Venantius  thought  for  a  moment 
of  carrying  Basil  before  him  on  his  horse,  but  prudence  over- 
came this  humane  impulse.  Into  the  carriage,  for  the  same 
reason  (had  there  been  no  other),  he  could  not  be  put ;  but 
there  was  a  vacant  place  beside  the  driver,  and  here,  sup- 
ported with  cords,  he  managed  to  keep  his  seat  until  they 
arrived  at  Casinum. 

Owing  to  its  position  on  the  highroad,  trodden  by  so  many 
barbaric  armies,  this  city  had  suffered  repeated  devastation. 
Its  great  buildings  stood  desolate,  or  had  fallen  to  utter  ruin, 


THE  MOUNT  OF  THE  MONK  277 

and  the  country  around,  once  famous  for  its  fertility,  showed 
but  a  few  poor  farms.  What  inhabitants  remained  dwelt  at 
the  foot  of  the  great  hill  on  whose  summit  rose  the  citadel, 
still  united  with  the  town  by  two  great  walls.  After  passing 
between  the  tombs  on  the  Latin  Way,  memorials  of  citizens 
long  dead,  the  travellers  entered  by  an  unprotected  gateway, 
and  here  Venantius  called  a  halt.  Wishing  to  make  no  longer 
pause  than  was  needful  to  put  the  sick  man  in  safety,  he 
despatched  a  few  soldiers  through  the  silent  town  to  seek  for 
means  of  conveying  Basil  up  to  the  monastery  on  the  height. 
By  good  luck  these  emissaries  came  upon  a  couple  of  monks, 
who  lost  no  time  in  arranging  for  the  conveyance  of  the 
sufferer.  A  light  cart  drawn  by  two  mules  speedily  appeared, 
and  on  this  Basil  was  laid.  One  only  of  his  men  did  Venantius 
allow  to  accompany  him,  the  others  were  bidden  ride  on  with 
the  captain's  own  soldiers  to  Aesernia. 

'There  you  will  find  us  all  when  you  are  on  your  legs 
again,'  said  Venantius,  'unless  by  that  time  we  have  marched 
Homewards,  in  which  case  you  shall  have  a  message.  Trust 
me  to  look  after  all  you  left  there ;  I  answer  for  its  safety  and 
for  that  of  your  good  fellows.  Keep  up  heart,  and  God  make 
you  sound.' 

Basil,  couched  on  a  bed  of  dry  leaves,  raised  himself  so 
as  to  watch  the  troop  as  it  rode  forth  again  from  the  ruined 
gate.  Whether  she  who  sat  hidden  within  the  carriage  had 
heard  of  his  evil  plight  he  knew  not,  and  could  not  ha\e 
brought  himself  to  ask.  The  last  of  his  own  horsemen  (some 
of  whom  had  taken  leave  of  him  with  tears)  having  vanished 
from  sight,  he  fell  back,  and  for  a  while  knew  nothing  but 
the  burning  torment  in  his  brain. 

The  ascent  of  the  mountain  began.  It  was  a  rough,  narrow 
road,  winding  through  a  thick  forest  of  oak  and  beech  trees, 
here  and  there  so  steep  as  to  try  the  firm  footing  of  the  mules, 
and  in  places  dangerous  because  of  broken  ground  on  the  edge 
of  precipitous  declivities.  The  cart  was  driven  by  its  owner,  a 
peasant  of  Casinum,  who  at  times  sat  sideways  on  one  of  the 
beasts,  at  times  walked  by  them ;  behind  came  the  two  religious 


278  VERANILDA 

men,  cowled,  bare-footed;  and  last  Basil's  attendant  on 
horseback. 

From  Venantius  the  monks  had  learned  who  their  charge 
was.  His  noble  origin,  and  still  more  the  fact  of  his  kindred 
with  their  beloved  Abbot  Benedict,  inspired  in  them  a  special 
interest.  They  spoke  of  him  in  whispers  together,  com- 
passionated his  sufferings,  remarked  on  the  comeliness  of  his 
features,  and  assured  each  other  that  they  detected  in  him  no 
symptom  of  the  plague.  It  being  now  the  third  hour,  they 
ceased  from  worldly  talk  and  together  recited  their  office, 
whereto  the  peasant  and  the  horseman  gave  pious  ear. 

Basil  lay  with  closed  eyes,  but  at  a  certain  moment  he 
seemed  to  become  aware  of  what  was  passing,  crossed  him- 
self, and  then  folded  his  hands  upon  his  breast  in  the  attitude 
of  prayer.  Having  observed  this,  one  of  the  monks,  his 
orisons  finished,  went  up  to  the  cart  and  spoke  comfortable 
words.  He  was  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  with  cheek  as 
fresh  as  a  maid's,  and  a  step  that  seemed  incapable  of  weari- 
ness; his  voice  sounded  a  note  of  gentle  kindness  which 
caused  the  sufferer  to  smile  at  him  in  gratitude. 

'This  tree,'  he  said  presently,  pointing  to  a  noble  beech, 
its  bole  engraven  with  a  cross,  '  marks  the  middle  point  of 
the  ascent.  A  weary  climb  for  the  weak,  but  not  without  profit 
to  him  who  thinks  as  he  walks — for,  as  our  dear  brother  Marcus 
has  said,  in  those  verses  we  are  never  tired  of  repeating : — 

"  Semper  difficili  quaeruntur  summa  labore, 
Arctam  semper  habet  vita  beata  viam."' 

The  other  monk,  an  older  man,  who  walked  less  vigorously, 
echoed  the  couplet  with  slow  emphasis,  as  if  savouring  every 
word.  Then  both  together,  bowing  their  cowled  heads, 
exclaimed  fervently : 

1  Thanks  be  to  God  for  the  precious  gifts  of  our  brother 
Marcus ! ' 

Basil  endeavoured  to  utter  a  few  words,  but  he  was  now  so 
feeble  that  he  could  scarce  make  his  voice  heard  above  the 
creak  of  the  wheels.  Again  he  closed  his  eyes,  and  his  com- 
panions pursued  their  way  in  silence.  When  at  length  they 


THE  MOUNT  OF  THE  MONK  279 

issued  from  the  forest  they  overlooked  a  vast  landscape  of  hill 
and  valley,  with  heads  of  greater  mountains  high  above  them. 
Here  rose  the  walls  of  the  citadel,  within  which  Benedict  had 
built  his  monastery.  For  some  distance  around  these  ancient 
ramparts  the  ground  was  tilled,  and  flourishing  with  various 
crops.  At  the  closed  gateway  of  the  old  Arx,  flanked  by  a  tower, 
the  monks  rang,  and  were  at  once  admitted  into  the  court- 
yard, where,  in  a  few  moments,  the  prior  and  all  his  brethren 
came  forward  to  greet  the  strangers.  Because  of  Basil's 
condition  the  ceremony  usual  on  such  arrivals  was  in  his 
case  curtailed :  the  prior  uttered  a  brief  prayer,  gave  the  kiss  of 
peace,  and  ordered  forthwith  the  removal  of  the  sick  man  to 
a  guest-chamber,  where  he  was  laid  in  bed  and  ministered  to 
by  the  brother  Marcus,  whose  gifts  as  a  healer  were  not  less 
notable  than  his  skill  in  poesy.  The  horseman,  meanwhile, 
as  custom  was  with  all  visitors,  had  been  led  to  the  oratory 
to  hear  a  passage  of  Holy  Scripture ;  after  which  the  prior 
poured  water  upon  his  hands,  and  certain  of  the  monks 
washed  his  feet. 

Before  sunset  Basil  lost  consciousness  of  present  things ; 
and  many  days  went  by  before  he  again  spoke  as  a  sane  man. 
When  at  length  the  fever  declined,  and  his  head  turned  upon 
the  pillow  in  search  of  a  human  countenance,  he  saw  standing 
beside  him  a  venerable  figure  in  the  monastic  garb,  whose 
visage,  though  wrinkled  with  age  and  thought,  had  such  noble 
vividness  in  its  look,  and  wore  a  smile  so  like  that  of  youth 
in  its  half-playful  sweetness,  that  Basil  could  but  gaze 
wonderingly,  awestruck  at  once,  and  charmed  by  this  un- 
expected apparition. 

'My  son,'  sounded  in  a  voice  grave  and  tender,  'be  your 
first  syllables  uttered  to  Him  by  whose  omnipotent  will  you 
are  restored  to  the  life  of  this  world.' 

With  the  obedience  of  a  child  he  clasped  his  thin  hands, 
and  murmured  the  prayer  of  childhood.  Then  the  gracious 
figure  bent  over  him.  He  felt  the  touch  of  lips  upon  his 
forehead,  and  in  the  same  moment  fell  asleep. 

It  was  night  when  he  again  woke.    A  little  lamp  revealed 


28o  VERANILDA 

bare  walls  of  stone,  a  low,  timbered  ceiling,  a  floor  of  red 
tiles.  Basil's  eyes,  as  soon  as  they  were  open,  looked  for  the 
venerable  figure  which  he  remembered.  Finding  no  one,  he 
thought  the  memory  was  but  of  a  dream.  Feeling  wonder- 
fully at  ease  in  body  and  calm  in  mind,  he  lay  musing  on 
that  vision  of  the  noble  countenance,  doubting  after  all 
whether  a  dream  could  have  left  so  distinct  an  impression, 
when  all  at  once  there  fell  upon  his  ear  a  far  sound  of  chant- 
ing, a  harmony  so  sweetly  solemn  that  it  melted  his  heart  and 
filled  his  eyes  with  tears.  Not  long  after,  when  all  was  silent 
again,  he  heard  the  sound  of  soft  footsteps  without,  and  in 
the  same  moment  the  door  of  his  cell  opened.  The  face 
which  looked  in  seemed  not  quite  unknown  to  him,  though 
he  could  not  recall  where  he  had  seen  it. 

'  You  have  slept  long,  dear  brother,'  said  Marcus,  with  a 
happy  smile.  *  Is  all  well  with  you  ? ' 

'  Well,  God  be  thanked, '  was  the  clear  but  faint  reply. 

The  poet-physician,  a  small,  nervous,  bright-eyed  man  of 
some  forty  years,  sat  down  on  a  stool  by  the  bedside  and 
began  talking  cheerfully.  He  had  just  come  from  matins, 
and  was  this  morning  excused  from  lauds  because  it  behoved 
him  to  gather  certain  herbs,  to  be  used  medicinally  in  the 
case  of  a  brother  who  had  fallen  sick  yesterday.  Touching  a 
little  gold  locket  which  Basil  wore  round  his  neck  on  a  gold 
thread  he  asked  what  this  contained,  and  being  told  that  it 
was  a  morsel  of  the  Crown  of  Thorns,  he  nodded  with 
satisfaction. 

'  We  questioned  whether  to  leave  it  on  you  or  not,  for  we 
could  not  open  it,  and  there  was  a  fear  lest  it  might  contain 
something' — he  smiled  and  shook  his  head  and  sighed — 
'much  less  sacred.  The  lord  abbot,  doubtless' — here  his 
voice  sank — 'after  a  vision,  though  of  this  he  spoke  not, 
decided  that  it  should  be  left.  There  was  no  harm,  for  all 
that' — his  eyes  twinked  merrily — 'in  tying  this  upon  the 
place  where  you  suffered  so  grievously.' 

From  amid  Basil's  long  hair  he  detached  what  looked  like 
a  tiny  skein  of  hemp,  which,  with  an  air  singularly  blended  of 


THE  MOUNT  OF  THE  MONK  281 

shrewdness  and  reverence,  he  declared  to  be  a  portion  of  a 
garb  of  penitence  worn  by  the  Holy  Martin,  to  whom  the 
oratory  here  was  dedicated.  Presently  Basil  found  strength 
to  ask  whether  the  abbot  had  been  beside  him. 

1  Many  times,'  was  the  answer.  '  The  last,  no  longer  ago 
than  yestereve,  ere  he  went  to  compline.  You  would  have 
seen  him  on  the  day  of  your  arrival,  ere  yet  you  became 
distraught,  but  that  a  heaviness  lay  upon  him  because  of  the 
loss  of  a  precious  manuscript  on  its  way  hither  from  Rome 
— a  manuscript  which  had  been  procured  for  him  after  much 
searching,  only  to  be  lost  by  the  folly  of  one  to  whom  it  was 
intrusted ;  if,  indeed,  it  was  not  rather  whisked  away  by  the 
Evil  One,  who,  powerless  for  graver  ill  against  our  holy 
father,  at  times  seeks  to  discomfort  him  by  small  practice  of 
spite.  Sorrow  for  this  loss  brought  on  a  distemper  to  which 
his  age  is  subject.' 

Reminded  all  at  once  that  he  had  no  time  to  'ose,  Marcus 
threw  open  the  shutter,  extinguished  the  lamp,  and  slipped 
away,  leaving  his  patient  with  eyes  turned  to  the  pale  glimmer 
of  dawn  at  the  tiny  window.  Now  only  did  there  stir  in 
Basil  clear  recollection  of  the  events  which  had  preceded  his 
coming  hither.  Marcus's  sly  word  in  regard  to  the  locket 
had  awakened  his  mind,  and  in  a  few  moments  he  thought 
connectedly.  But  without  emotion,  unless  it  were  a  vague, 
tender  sadness.  All  seemed  to  have  happened  so  long  ago. 
It  was  like  a  story  he  had  heard  in  days  gone  by.  He 
thought  of  it  until  his  brain  began  to  weary,  then  again  came 
sleep. 

A  day  or  two  passed.  He  had  begun  to  eat  with  keen 
appetite,  and  his  strength  increased  hour  by  hour.  On  a 
Sunday,  after  the  office  of  the  third  hour,  Marcus  cheerily 
gave  him  permission  to  rise.  This  prompted  Basil  to  inquire 
whether  his  man,  who  had  come  with  him,  was  still  in  the 
monastery.  Marcus,  with  eyes  averted,  gave  a  nod.  Might 
he  speak  with  him,  Basil  asked.  Presently,  presently,  was 
the  answer.  Marcus  himself  aided  the  convalescent  to  dress 
then  having  seated  him  in  a  great  chair  of  rude  wickerwoik 


282  VERANILDA 

used  only  on  occasions  such  as  this,  left  him  to  bask  in  a 
beam  of  sunshine.  Before  long,  his  meal  was  brought  him, 
and  with  it  a  book,  bound  in  polished  wood  and  metal,  which 
he  found  to  be  a  Psalter.  Herein,  when  he  had  eaten,  he 
read  for  an  hour  or  so,  not,  however,  without  much  wandering 
of  the  thoughts.  He  had  fallen  into  reverie,  when  his  door 
opened,  and  there  appeared  before  him  the  Abbot  Benedict. 

Basil  started  up,  stood  for  a  moment  in  agitation,  then 
sank  upon  his  knees,  with  head  reverently  bowed. 

'  Rise,  rise,  my  son,'  spoke  the  voice  which  had  so  moved 
him  in  his  vision  of  a  week  ago,  a  voice  subdued  by  years, 
but  perfectly  steady  and  distinct.  '  Our  good  brother 
Marcus  assures  me  that  I  may  talk  with  you  a  little  while 
without  fear  of  overtasking  your  strength — nay,  sit  where  you 
were,  I  pray  you.  Thanks  be  to  God,  I  need  not  support  for 
my  back.' 

So  saying,  the  abbot  seated  himself  on  the  stool,  and  gazed 
at  Basil  with  a  smile  of  infinite  benevolence. 

'  Your  face,'  he  continued, '  speaks  to  me  of  a  time  very  far 
away.  I  see  in  it  the  presentment  of  your  father's  father, 
with  whom,  when  he  was  much  of  your  age,  I  often  talked. 
His  mother  had  a  villa  at  Nursia,  the  home  of  my  youth. 
Once  he  turned  aside  from  a  journey  to  visit  me  when  I 
dwelt  at  Sublaqueum.1 

The  reminiscence  checked  his  tongue ;  he  kept  silence 
for  a  moment,  musing  gravely. 

'  But  these  are  old  stories,  my  Basil,  and  you  are  young. 
Tell  me  somewhat  of  your  parents,  and  of  your  own  life. 
Did  not  your  good  father  pass  away  whilst  at  Constantinople? 

Thus,  with  perfect  simplicity,  with  kindliest  interest  in 
things  human,  did  Benedict  draw  the  young  man  into  con- 
verse. He  put  no  question  that  touched  on  the  inner  life, 
and  Basil  uttered  not  a  word  concerning  his  late  distress, 
but  they  touched  for  a  moment  upon  public  affairs,  and  Basil 
learnt,  without  show  of  special  interest,  that  Totila  still 
lingered  in  Campania. 

1  Subiaco, 


THE  MOUNT  OF  THE  MONK  283 

*  Your  follower,  Deodatus,'  said  the  abbot  presently,  '  begs 
each  day  for  permission  to  see  you.     The  good  fellow  has 
not  lived  in  idleness ;  he  is  a  brave  worker  in  wood,  and  by 
chance  we  much  needed  one  of  his  craft.     Not  many  things 
of  this  world  give  me  more  pleasure  than  to  watch  a  cunning 
craftsman  as  he  smooths  timber,  and  fits  the  pieces  together, 
and  makes  of  them  something  that  shall  serve  the  needs  of 
men.     Is  it  not,  in  some  sort,  to  imitate  the  great  Artificer? 
Would,  O  Basil,  that  our  country  had  more  makers  and  fewer 
who  live  but  to  destroy.' 

*  Would  it  were  so,  indeed  ! '  sighed  Basil,  in  a  low,  fervent 
voice. 

'  But  the  end  is  not  yet,'  pursued  Benedict,  his  eyes  gazing 
straight  before  him,  as  if  they  beheld  the  future.  *  Men  shall 
pray  for  peace,  but  it  will  not  be  granted  them,  so  great  are 
the  iniquities  of  the  world  which  utters  the  name  of  Christ, 
yet  knows  Him  not.' 

He  paused  with  troubled  brow.  Then,  as  if  reminding 
himself  that  his  hearer  had  need  of  more  encouraging  words, 
he  said  cheerfully  : 

'To-morrow,  perchance,  you  will  have  strength  to  leave 
your  room.  Deodatus  shall  come  to  you  in  the  morning. 
When  you  can  walk  so  far,  I  will  pray  you  to  visit  me  in  my 
tower.  You  knew  not  that  I  inhabit  a  tower  ?  Even  as  the 
watchman  who  keeps  guard  over  a  city.  And,'  he  added 
more  gravely,  as  if  to  himself  rather  than  to  the  listener, 
'  God  grant  that  my  watch  be  found  faithful.' 

Thereupon  the  abbot  rose,  and  gently  took  his  leare ;  and 
Basil,  through  all  the  rest  of  the  day,  thought  of  him  and  of 
every  word  he  had  uttered. 

Not  long  after  sunrise  on  the  morrow,  Deodatus  was 
allowed  to  enter.  This  man,  whose  age  was  something  more 
than  thirty,  was  the  son  of  a  serf  on  Basil's  land,  and  being 
of  very  peaceful  disposition,  had  with  some  reluctance 
answered  the  summons  to  arm  himself  and  follow  his  lord 
to  the  wars.  Life  in  the  monastery  thoroughly  suited  his 
temper;  when  Basil  encouraged  him  to  talk,  he  gave  a 


284  VERANILDA 

delighted  account  of  the  way  in  which  his  days  were  spent ; 
spoke  with  simple  joy  of  the  many  religious  services  he 
attended,  and  had  no  words  in  which  to  express  his  devotion 
to  the  abbot. 

'Why,  Deodatus,'  exclaimed  his  master,  smiling,  'you 
lack  but  the  cowl  to  be  a  very  monk.' 

'My  duty  is  to  my  lord,'  answered  the  man,  bending  his 
head. 

1  Tell  me  now  whether  any  news  has  reached  you,  in  all 
this  time,  of  those  from  whom  my  sickness  parted  us.' 

But  Deodatus  had  heard  nothing  of  his  fellows,  and 
nothing  of  Venantius. 

' It  may  be,'  said  Basil,  'that  I  shall  send  you  to  tell  them 
how  I  fare,  and  to  bring  back  tidings.  Your  horse  is  at 
hand  ? ' 

As  he  spoke  he  detected  a  sadness  on  the  man's  counte- 
nance. Without  more  words,  he  dismissed  him. 

That  day  he  sat  in  the  open  air,  in  a  gallery  whence  he 
could  survey  a  great  part  of  the  monastic  buildings,  and 
much  of  the  mountain  summit  on  its  western  side.  For  an 
hour  he  had  the  companionship  of  Marcus,  who,  pointing  to 
this  spot  and  to  that,  instructed  Basil  in  the  history  of  what 
he  saw,  now  and  then  reciting  his  own  verses  on  the  subject. 
He  told  how  Benedict,  seeking  with  a  little  company  of  pious 
followers  for  a  retreat  from  the  evil  of  the  world,  came  to 
ruined  Casinum,  and  found  its  few  wretched  inhabitants 
fallen  away  from  Christ,  worshipping  the  old  gods  in  groves 
and  high  places.  Here,  on  the  mountain  top,  stood  temples 
of  Jupiter,  of  Apollo,  and  of  Venus.  The  house  of  Apollo  he 
purified  for  Christian  service,  and  set  under  the  invocation  of 
the  Holy  Martin.  The  other  temples  he  laid  low,  and  having 
cut  down  the  grove  sacred  to  Apollo,  on  that  spot  he  raised 
an  oratory  in  the  name  of  the  Baptist.  Not  without  much 
spiritual  strife  was  all  this  achieved ;  for — the  good  Marcus 
subdued  his  voice — Satan  himself  more  than  once  overthrew 
what  the  monks  had  built,  and,  together  with  the  demons 
whom  Benedict  had  driven  forth,  often  assailed  the  holy 


THE  MOUNT  OF  THE  MONK  285 

band  with  terrors  and  torments.  Had  not  the  narrator,  who 
gently  boasted  a  part  in  these  beginnings,  been  once  all  but 
killed  by  a  falling  column,  which  indeed  must  have  crushed 
him,  but  that  he  stretched  out  a  hand  in  which,  by  happy 
chance,  he  was  holding  a  hammer,  and  this — for  a  hammer 
is  cruciform — touching  the  great  pillar,  turned  its  fall  in 
another  direction.  Where  stood  the  temple  of  Venus  was 
now  a  vineyard,  yielding  excellent  wine. 

1  Whereof,  surely,  you  must  not  drink  ? '  interposed  Basil, 
with  a  smile. 

'  Therein,  good  brother,'  replied  Marcus,  { you  show  but 
little  knowledge  of  our  dear  lord  abbot.  He  indeed  ab- 
stains from  wine,  for  such  has  been  the  habit  of  his  life, 
but  to  us  he  permits  it,  for  the  stomach's  sake;  being  of 
opinion  that  labour  is  a  form  of  worship,  and  well  under- 
standing that  labour,  whether  of  body  or  of  mind,  can  only  be 
performed  by  one  in  health.  This  very  day  you  shall  taste 
of  our  vintage,  which  I  have  hitherto  withheld  from  you,  lest 
it  should  overheat  your  languid  blood.' 

Many  other  questions  did  Basil  ask  concerning  the  rule  of 
the  monastery.  He  learned  that  the  day  was  equitably  por- 
tioned out  (worship  apart)  between  manual  and  mental  work. 
During  summer,  the  cooler  hours  of  morning  and  afternoon 
were  spent  in  the  field,  and  the  middle  of  the  day  in  study  ; 
winter  saw  this  order  reversed.  On  Sunday  the  monks 
laboured  not  with  their  hands,  and  thought  only  of  the  Word 
of  God.  The  hours  of  the  divine  office  suffered,  of  course, 
no  change  all  the  year  round  :  their  number  in  the  daytime 
was  dictated  by  that  verse  of  the  Psalmist :  '  Septies  in  die 
laudem  dixi  tibi ' ;  therefore  did  the  community  assemble  at 
lauds,  at  prime,  at  the  third  hour,  at  mid  day,  at  the  ninth 
hour,  at  vespers,  and  at  compline.  They  arose,  moreover, 
for  prayer  at  midnight,  and  for  matins  before  dawn.  On  all 
this  the  hearer  mused  when  he  was  left  alone,  and  with  his 
musing  blended  a  sense  of  peace  such  as  had  never  before 
entered  into  his  heart. 

He  had  returned  to  his  chamber,  and  was  reposing  on  the 


286  VERANILDA 

bed,  when  there  entered  one  of  the  two  monks  by  whom  he 
was  conveyed  up  the  mountain.  With  happy  face,  this  visitor 
presented  to  him  a  new  volume,  which,  he  declared  with 
modest  pride,  was  from  beginning  to  end  the  work  of  his 
own  hand. 

'  But  an  hour  ago  I  finished  the  binding/  he  added,  strok- 
ing the  calf-skin  affectionately.  c  And  when  I  laid  it  before 
the  venerable  father,  who  is  always  indulgent  to  those  who 
do  their  best,  he  was  pleased  to  speak  kind  things.  "  Take 
it  to  our  noble  guest,"  he  said,  "  that  he  may  see  how  we  use 
the  hours  God  grants  us.  And  it  may  be  that  he  would  like 
to  read  therein.'" 

The  book  was  a  beautiful  copy  of  Augustine's  De  Civitatc 
Dei.  Basil  did  indeed  peruse  a  page  or  two,  but  again  his 
thoughts  began  to  wander.  He  turned  the  leaves,  looking 
with  pleasure  at  the  fine  initial  letters  in  red  ink.  They 
reminded  him  of  his  cousin  Decius,  whom  a  noble  manu- 
script would  transport  with  joy.  And  thought  of  Decius 
took  him  back  to  Surrentum.  He  fell  into  a  dream. 

On  the  morrow,  at  noon,  he  was  well  enough  to  descend 
to  the  refectory,  where  he  had  a  seat  at  the  abbot's  table. 
His  meal  consisted  of  a  roast  pigeon,  a  plate  of  vegetables, 
honey  and  grapes,  with  bread  which  seemed  to  him  better 
than  he  had  ever  tasted,  and  wine  whereof  his  still  weak  head 
bade  him  partake  very  modestly.  The  abbot's  dinner,  he 
saw,  was  much  simpler :  a  bowl  of  milk,  a  slice  of  bread, 
and  a  couple  of  figs.  After  the  kindly  greeting  with  which 
he  was  received,  there  was  no  conversation,  for  a  monk  read 
aloud  during  the  repast.  Basil  surveyed  with  interest  the 
assembly  before  him.  Most  of  the  faces  glowed  with  health, 
and  on  all  was  manifest  a  simple  contentment  such  as  he  had 
hitherto  seen  only  in  the  eyes  of  children.  Representatives 
were  here  of  every  social  rank,  but  the  majority  belonged  to 
honourable  families :  high  intelligence  marked  many  coun- 
tenances, but  not  one  showed  the  shadow  of  anxious  or 
weary  thought. 

These  are  men,  said  Basil  to   himself,  who  either  have 


THE  MOUNT  OF  THE  MONK  287 

never  known  the  burden  of  life,  or  have  utterly  cast  it  off; 
they  live  without  a  care,  without  a  passion.  And  then  there 
suddenly  flashed  upon  his  mind  what  seemed  an  all-sufficient 
explanation  of  this  calm,  this  happiness.  Here  entered  no 
woman.  Woman's  existence  was  forgotten,  alike  by  young 
and  old ;  or,  if  not  forgotten,  had  lost  all  its  earthly  taint,  as 
in  the  holy  affection  (of  which  Marcus  had  spoken  to  him) 
cherished  by  the  abbot  for  his  pious  sister  Scholastica. 
Here,  he  clearly  saw,  was  the  supreme  triumph  of  the  re- 
ligious life.  But,  instead  of  quieting,  the  thought  disturbed 
him.  He  went  away  thinking  thoughts  which  he  would 
fain  have  kept  at  a  distance. 

The  ninth  hour  found  him  in  the  oratory,  and  later  he 
attended  vespers,  at  which  office  the  monks  sang  an  evening 
hymn  of  the  holy  Ambrosius  : — 

'  O  lux,  beata  Trinitas,  et  principalis  Unitas, 
Jam  sol  recedit  igneus  ;  infunde  lumen  cordibus. 

Te  mane  laudum  carmine,  te  deprecemur  vesperi, 
Te  nostra  supplcx  gloria  per  cuncta  laudet  saecula. ' 

The  long  sweet  notes  lingered  in  Basil's  mind  when  he 
lay  down  to  rest.  And,  as  he  crossed  himself  before  sleep- 
ing, the  only  prayer  he  breathed  was :  '  Infundc  lumen  cordi 
meo.' 


CHAPTER  XXV 
THE  ABBOT'S  TOWER 

ON  the  morrow  he  rose  earlier,  talking  the  while  with  his 
servant  Deodatus.  This  good  fellow  continued  to  exhibit 
so  deep  an  affection  for  the  life  of  the  monastery  that  Basil 
was  at  length  moved  to  ask  him  whether,  if  he  had  the 
choice,  he  would  veritably  become  a  monk.  Deodatus 
looked  at  his  master  with  eyes  of  pathetic  earnestness, 
tried  in  vain  to  speak,  and  burst  into  tears.  Instructed  by 
a  vocation  so  manifest,  Basil  began  to  read  more  clearly 
in  his  own  heart,  where,  in  spite  of  the  sorrows  he  had  borne 
and  of  the  troublous  uncertainties  that  lay  before  him,  he 
found  no  such  readiness  to  quit  the  world.  He  could 
approve  the  wisdom  of  those  who  renounced  the  flesh,  to 
be  rewarded  with  tranquillity  on  earth  and  eternal  happiness 
hereafter;  but  his  will  did  not  ally  itself  with  his  intellect. 
Moreover,  was  it  certain,  he  asked  himself,  that  all  who 
embraced  the  religious  life  were  so  rewarded  ?  In  turning 
the  pages  of  Augustine's  work,  he  had  come  upon  a  passage 
which  arrested  his  eye  and  perturbed  his  thought,  a  passage 
which  seemed  clearly  to  intimate  that  the  soul's  eternal 
destiny  had  from  the  beginning  of  things  been  decided  by 
God,  some  men  being  created  for  bliss,  more  for  damnation. 
Basil  did  not  dwell  profoundly  on  this  doubt ;  his  nature 
inclined  not  at  all  to  theological  scrutiny,  nor  to  spiritual 
brooding ;  but  it  helped  to  revive  in  him  the  energies  which 
sickness  had  abated,  and  to  throw  him  back  on  that  simple 
faith,  that  Christianity  of  everyday,  in  which  he  had 
grown  up. 


THE   ABBOT'S   TOWER  289 

Going  forth  in  the  mellow  sunshine,  he  turned  his  steps 
to  a  garden  of  vegetables  where  he  saw  monks  at  work. 
They  gave  him  gentle  greeting,  and  one,  he  who  had  brought 
the  volume  yesterday,  announced  that  the  abbot  invited 
Basil  to  visit  him  after  the  office  of  the  third  hour.  There- 
upon all  worked  in  silence,  he  watching  them. 

When  the  time  came,  he  was  conducted  to  the  abbot's 
dwelling,  which  was  the  tower  beside  the  ancient  gateway  of 
the  Arx.  It  contained  but  two  rooms,  one  above  the  other ; 
below,  the  founder  of  the  monastery  studied  and  transacted 
business  ;  in  the  upper  chamber  he  prayed  and  slept.  When, 
in  reply  to  his  knock  at  the  study  door,  the  voice,  now 
familiar,  but  for  that  no  less  impressive,  bade  him  come 
forward,  Basil  felt  his  heart  beat  quickly  ;  and  when  he  stood 
alone  in  that  venerable  presence,  all  his  new-born  self-con- 
fidence fell  away  from  him.  Beholding  the  aged  man  seated 
at  a  table  on  which  lay  books,  amid  perfect  stillness,  in  the 
light  from  a  large  window;  before  him  a  golden  cross,  and, 
on  either  side  of  it,  a  bowl  of  sweet-scented  flowers ;  he 
seemed  only  now  to  remember  that  this  was  that  Benedict 
whose  fame  had  gone  forth  into  many  lands,  whose  holiness 
already  numbered  him  with  the  blessed  saints  rather  than 
with  mortal  men,  of  whom  were  recounted  things  miracu- 
lous. Looking  upon  that  face,  which  time  touched  only  to 
enhance  its  calm,  only  to  make  yet  purer  its  sweet  humanity, 
he  felt  himself  an  idle  and  wanton  child,  and  his  entrance 
hither  a  profanation. 

'Come  and  sit  by  me,  son  Basil,'  said  the  abbot.  'I  am 
at  leisure,  and  shall  be  glad  to  hear  you  speak  of  many  things. 
Tell  me  first,  do  you  love  reading  ? ' 

Basil  answered  with  simple  truth,  that  of  late  years  he  had 
scarce  read  at  all,  his  inclination  being  rather  to  the  active  life. 

'  So  I  should  have  surmised.  But  chancing  to  look  from 
my  upper  window  not  long  after  sunrise,  I  saw  you  walking 
with  a  book  in  your  hand.  What  was  it? ' 

Basil  murmured  that  it  was  the  Book  of  Psalms. 

1  Look,  then,'  said  Benedict,  '  at  what  lies  before  me.  Here 

T 


290  VERANILDA 

is  a  commentary  on  that  book,  written  by  the  learned  and 
pious  Cassiodorus ;  written  in  the  religious  house  which  he 
himself  has  founded,  upon  the  shore  of  "ship-wrecking 
Scylaceum,"  as  saith  Virgilius.  Not  a  week  ago  it  came  into 
my  hands,  a  precious  gift  from  the  writer,  and  I  have  read 
much  in  it  On  the  last  of  his  many  journeys,  travelling 
from  Ravenna  to  the  south,  he  climbed  hither,  and  sojourned 
with  us  for  certain  days,  and  great  was  my  solace  in  the  com- 
muning we  had  together.  Perchance  you  knew  him  in  the 
world?' 

Gladly  Basil  recounted  his  memories  of  the  great  coun- 
sellor. And  the  abbot  listened  with  an  attentive  smile. 

1 1  marvel  not  that  you  loved  him.  Reading  in  these 
pages,  I  am  delighted  by  the  graces  of  his  mind,  and 
taught  by  the  sanctity  of  his  spirit.  At  the  very  beginning, 
how  sweetly  does  his  voice  sound.  Listen.  "Trusting  in 
the  Lord's  command,  I  knock  at  the  doors  of  the  heavenly 
mystery,  that  He  may  open  to  my  understanding  His  flowery 
abodes,  and  that,  permitted  to  enter  the  celestial  garden, 
I  may  pluck  spiritual  fruit  without  the  sin  of  the  first  man. 
Verily  this  book  shines  like  a  lamp;  it  is  the  salve  of  a 
wounded  spirit,  sweet  as  honey  to  the  inner  man.  So  much 
hath  it  of  beauty  for  the  senses,  such  healing  in  its  balmy 
words,  that  to  it  may  be  applied  the  words  of  Solomon : 
'A  closed  garden,  and  a  fountain  sealed,  a  paradise  abound- 
ing in  all  fruits.'  For  if  Paradise  be  deemed  desirable 
because  it  is  watered  by  the  delightful  flow  of  four  rivers, 
how  much  more  blessed  is  the  mind  which  is  refreshed  by 
the  founts  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  psalms  ! " ' 

Basil  scarce  heeded  the  sense  of  the  passage  read  to  him. 
He  could  hear  only  the  soft  music  of  the  aged  voice,  which 
lulled  him  into  a  calm  full  of  faith  and  trust. 

'Is  not  this  better,'  asked  Benedict  gently,  whilst  his  eyes 
searched  the  young  man's  countenance,  'than  to  live  for 
the  service  of  kings,  and  to  utter  worldly  counsel  ? ' 

'  Better  far,  I  cannot  doubt,'  Basil  replied  with  humility. 

'  Utter  the  rest  of  your  thought,'  said  the  abbot,  smiling. 


THE   ABBOT'S   TOWER  291 

'You  cannot  doubt — and  yet?  Utter  your  mind  to  me, 
dear  son.' 

'  My  father,  I  obey  you,  desiring  indeed  with  all  my  soul 
to  seek  your  guidance.  My  heart  has  been  too  much  in 
this  world,  and  for  one  thought  given  to  things  eternal,  I 
have  bestowed  a  hundred  upon  my  own  sorrows,  and  on 
those  of  Italy.7 

His  voice  faltered,  his  head  drooped. 

'  I  say  not,'  murmured  the  listener,  '  that  you  do  wrong  to 
love  your  country.' 

'  Holy  father,  I  were  a  hypocrite  if  I  spoke  of  my  country 
first  of  all.  For  all  but  a  year  gone  by,  another  love  has 
possessed  me.  Forgive  me  that  I  dare  to  speak  such  a  word 
before  you.' 

The  abbot  turned  his  eyes  to  the  window.  Upon  the  sill 
had  settled  two  doves,  which  seemed  to  regard  him  curiously. 
He  made  a  soft  gesture  with  his  hand,  and  the  birds  flew 
away. 

'Speak  on,'  he  said  after  brief  reflection,  and  with  the 
same  indulgence.  '  He  who  tells  all  speaks  not  to  man  but 
to  God.' 

And  Basil  told  all ;  told  it  with  humble  simplicity,  with 
entire  truthfulness,  recounting  his  history  from  the  day  when 
he  first  beheld  Veranilda  to  the  dreadful  hour  when  Marcian's 
blood  stained  his  hands.  He  began  in  calm,  but  the  revival 
of  emotions  which  had  slept  during  his  sickness  and  his  con- 
valescence soon  troubled  him  profoundly.  Not  only  did 
the  dormant  feelings  wake  up  again,  but  things  which  he  had 
forgotten  rushed  into  his  memory.  So,  when  he  came  to 
the  last  interview  with  Veranilda,  he  remembered,  for  the 
first  time  since  that  day,  what  he  had  said  to  her,  and  the 
recollection  dismayed  him.  He  burst  into  tears,  over- 
whelmed at  once  with  misery  and  shame. 

'  It  may  be,'  he  sobbed,  '  that  she  was  innocent.  Suffer- 
ing had  driven  me  mad,  and  I  uttered  words  such  as  never 
should  have  passed  my  lips.  If  she  is  guiltless,  there  lives 
no  baser  man  than  I.  For  I  reproached  her — my  father,  how 


292  VERANILDA 

you  will  scorn  me ! — I  cast  at  her  in  reproach  her  father's 
treachery.' 

The  abbot's  brow  rested  upon  his  hand.  It  was  thus  he 
had  listened,  unmoving,  throughout  the  story  ;  nor  did  he 
now  stir,  until  Basil,  having  ceased  alike  from  speaking  and 
from  tears,  had  sat  for  a  little  while  in  stillness  and  reflection. 
Then  at  length  he  turned  his  eyes  upon  the  young  man,  and 
spoke  with  sad  gravity. 

'  Even  so,  even  so.  You  gave  your  heart  to  a  woman,  and 
worshipped  at  her  feet,  and  behold  there  has  come  upon 
you  the  guilt  of  blood.  Not,  you  would  protest,  through 
your  own  fault;  your  friend  was  false  to  you,  and  in  just 
wrath  you  slew  him.  Who  made  you,  O  Basil,  his  judge 
and  his  executioner  ? ' 

1  Father,  I  seek  not  to  excuse  my  sin.' 

'It  is  well.  And  what  penance  will  you  lay  upon 
yourself?' 

Utterly  subdued  by  awe,  oblivious  of  his  own  will  in  the 
presence  of  one  so  much  more  powerful,  Basil  murmured  that 
whatever  penance  the  man  of  God  saw  fit  to  impose  that 
would  he  perform. 

'Nay,'  said  Benedict  gently,  'that  is  too  like  presumption. 
Say  rather,  you  would  endeavour  to  perform  it.  I  will  believe 
that  if  I  bade  you  fast  long,  or  repeat  many  prayers,  you 
would  punctually  obey  me.  But  what  if  I  demanded  of  you 
that  against  which  not  only  your  flesh,  but  all  the  motive  of 
your  life,  rebelled  ?  It  were  not  too  much ;  yet  dare  you 
promise  to  achieve  it  ? ' 

Basil  looked  up  fearfully,  and  answered  with  tremulous 
lips : 

'  Not  in  my  own  strength ;  but  perchance  with  the  help  of 
God.' 

A  grave  smile  passed  over  Benedict's  countenance. 

'  It  is  well,  my  son ;  again,  it  is  well.  Come  now,  and  let 
us  reason  of  this  your  sin.  You  avow  to  me  that  God  and 
His  commands  have  ever  been  little  in  your  mind,  whereas 
you  have  thought  much  of  this  world  and  its  governance.  I 


THE   ABBOT'S  TOWER  293 

might  ask  you  how  it  is  possible  to  reflect  on  the  weal  and 
woe  of  human  kind  without  taking  count  of  Him  who  made 
the  world  and  rules  it;  but  let  me  approach  you  with  a 
narrower  inquiry.  You  tell  me  that  you  love  your  country, 
and  desire  its  peace.  How  comes  it,  then,  that  you  are 
numbered  with  the  violent,  the  lawless,  with  those  who 
renounce  their  citizenship  and  dishonour  the  State?  Could 
not  all  your  worldly  meditations  preserve  you  from  so  gross 
an  incoherence  of  thought  and  action  ? ' 

'  Indeed,  it  should  have  done.' 

'And  would,  perchance,  had  not  your  spleen  overcome 
your  reason.  Why,  that  is  the  case,  O  Basil,  of  all  but  every 
man  who  this  day  calls  himself  a  Roman  citizen.  Therefore 
is  it  that  Italy  lies  under  the  wrath  of  the  Most  High. 
Therefore  is  it  that  Rome  has  fallen,  and  that  the  breath  of 
pestilence,  the  sword  of  the  destroyer,  yea,  earthquake  and 
flood  and  famine,  desolate  the  land.  Yet  you  here  find  little 
time,  my  son,  to  meditate  the  laws  of  God,  being  so  busied 
for  the  welfare  of  men.  Methinks  your  story  has  aimed  a 
little  wide.' 

Basil  bent  low  before  this  gentle  irony,  which  softened  his 
heart.  The  abbot  mused  a  moment,  gazing  upon  the  golden 
cross. 

'  In  the  days  of  old,'  he  continued,  '  Romans  knew  how  to 
subdue  their  own  desires  to  the  good  of  their  country.  He 
who,  in  self-seeking,  wronged  the  State,  was  cast  forth  from 
its  bosom.  Therefore  was  it  that  Rome  grew  mighty,  the 
Omnipotent  fostering  her  for  ends  which  the  fulness  of  time 
should  disclose.  Such  virtue  had  our  ancestors,  even  though 
they  worshipped  darkly  at  the  altars  of  daemons.  But  from 
that  pride  they  fell,  for  their  hearts  were  hardened ;  and,  at 
length,  when  heathendom  had  wellnigh  destroyed  the  principle 
whereby  they  waxed,  God  revealed  Himself  unto  His  chosen, 
that  ancient  virtue  and  new  faith  might  restore  the  world. 
To  turn  your  thought  upon  these  things,  I  sent  you  the  book 
written  long  ago  by  the  holy  father  Augustine,  concerning 
the  Divine  S'.ate.  Have  you  read  in  it?' 


294  VERANILDA 

1  Some  little,'  answered  Basil,  '  but  with  wandering  mind.' 

'  Therein  you  will  discover,  largely  expounded,  these  reason- 
ings I  do  but  touch  upon.  I  would  have  you  trace  God's 
working  in  the  past,  and,  by  musing  upon  what  now  is,  ripen 
yourself  in  that  citizenship  whereon  you  have  prided  yourself, 
though  you  neither  understood  its  true  meaning  nor  had  the 
strength  to  perform  its  duties.  Losing  sight  of  the  Heavenly 
City  for  that  which  is  on  earth,  not  even  in  your  earthly 
service  were  you  worthy  of  the  name  of  Roman;  and,  inas- 
much as  you  wronged  the  earthly  Rome,  even  so  did  you  sin 
against  that  Eternal  State  of  the  Supreme  Lord  whereof  by 
baptism  you  were  made  a  citizen.  By  such  as  you,  O  Basil, 
is  the  anger  of  our  God  prolonged,  and  lest  you  should  think 
that,  amid  a  long  and  bloody  war,  amid  the  trampling  of 
armies,  the  fall  of  cities,  one  death  more  is  of  no  account, 
I  say  to  you  that,  in  the  eyes  of  the  All-seeing,  this  deed  of 
yours  may  be  of  heavier  moment  than  the  slaughter  of  a 
battlefield.  From  your  own  lips  it  is  manifest  that  you  had 
not  even  sound  assurance  of  the  guilt  you  professed  to 
punish.  It  may  be  that  the  man  had  not  wronged  you  as 
you  supposed.  A  little  patience,  a  little  of  the  calm  which 
becomes  a  reasoning  soul,  and  you  might  not  only  have  saved 
yourself  from  crime,  but  have  resolved  what  must  now  ever 
be  a  doubt  to  your  harassed  thoughts.' 

1  Such  words  did  Veranilda  herself  speak,'  exclaimed  Basil. 
'  And  I,  in  my  frenzy,  thought  them  only  a  lamentation  for 
the  death  of  her  lover.' 

'  Call  it  frenzy ;  but  remember,  O  my  son,  that  no  less  a 
frenzy  was  every  act  of  your  life,  and  every  thought,  which 
led  you  on  the  path  to  that  ultimate  sin.  Frenzy  it  is  to 
live  only  for  the  flesh ;  frenzy,  to  imagine  that  any  good  can 
come  of  aught  you  purpose  without  beseeching  the  divine 
guidance.' 

Much  else  did  the  abbot  utter  in  this  vein  of  holy  admoni- 
tion. And  Basil  would  have  listened  with  the  acquiescence 
of  a  perfect  faith,  but  that  there  stirred  within  him  the 
memory  of  what  he  had  read  in  Augustine's  pages,  darkening 


THE   ABBOT'S  TOWER  295 

his  spirit.  At  length  he  found  courage  to  speak  of  this,  and 
asked  in  trembling  tones : 

'  Am  I  one  of  those  born  to  sin  and  to  condemnation  ?  Am 
I  of  those  unhappy  beings  who  strive  in  vain  against  a  doom 
predetermined  by  the  Almighty  ? ' 

Benedict's  countenance  fell;  not  as  if  in  admission  of  a 
dread  possibility,  but  rather  as  in  painful  surprise. 

'You  ask  me,'  he  answered  solemnly,  after  a  pause,  'what 
no  man  should  ask  even  when  he  communes  with  his  own 
soul  in  the  stillness  of  night.  The  Gospel  is  preached  to  all ; 
nowhere  in  the  word  of  God  are  any  forbidden  to  hear  it, 
or,  hearing,  to  accept  its  solace.  Think  not  upon  that  dark 
mystery,  which  even  to  the  understandings  God  has  most 
enlightened  shows  but  as  a  formless  dread.  The  sinner  shall 
not  brood  upon  his  sin,  save  to  abhor  it.  Shall  he  who 
repents  darken  repentance  with  a  questioning  of  God's 
mercy?  Then  indeed  were  there  no  such  thing  as  turning 
from  wrong  to  righteousness.' 

'  When  I  sent  you  that  book,'  he  resumed,  after  observing 
the  relief  that  came  to  Basil's  face,  '  I  had  in  mind  only  its 
salutary  teaching  for  such  as  live  too  much  in  man's  world, 
and  especially  for  those  who,  priding  themselves  upon  the 
name  of  Roman,  are  little  given  to  reflection  upon  all  the 
evil  Rome  has  wrought.  Had  I  known  what  lay  upon  your 
conscience,  I  should  have  withheld  from  you  everything  but 
Holy  Writ.' 

'  My  man,  Deodatus,  had  not  spoken  ? '  asked  Basil. 

'  Concerning  you,  not  a  word.  I  did  not  permit  him  to  be 
questioned,  and  his  talk  has  been  only  of  his  own  sins.' 

Basil  wondered  at  this  discretion  in  a  simple  rustic;  yet, 
on  a  second  thought,  found  it  consistent  with  the  character  of 
Deodatus,  as  lately  revealed  to  him. 

'  He  has  been  long  your  faithful  attendant  ? '  inquired  the 
abbot. 

'  Not  so.  Only  by  chance  was  he  chosen  from  my  horse- 
men to  accompany  me  hither.  My  own  servant,  Felix,  being 
wounded,  lay  behind  at  Aesernia.' 


296  VERANILDA 

'If  he  be  as  honest  and  God-fearing  as  this  man,'  said 
Benedict,  'whose  name,  indeed,  seems  well  to  become  him, 
then  are  you  fortunate  in  those  who  tend  upon  you.  But  of  this 
and  other  such  things  we  will  converse  hereafter.  Listen  now, 
son  Basil,  to  my  bidding.  You  have  abstained  from  the  Table 
of  the  Lord,  and  it  is  well.  To-day,  and  every  day  until  I 
again  summon  you,  you  will  read  aloud  in  privacy  the  Seven 
Penitential  Psalms,  slowly  and  with  meditation ;  and  may  they 
grave  themselves  in  your  heart,  to  remain  there,  a  purification 
and  a  hope,  whilst  you  live.' 

Basil  bowed  his  head,  and  whispered  obedience. 

'  Moreover,  so  far  as  your  strength  will  suffer  it,  you  shall 
go  daily  into  the  garden  or  the  field,  and  there  work  with  the 
brethren.  Alike  for  soul  and  for  body  it  is  good  to  labour 
under  God's  sky,  and  above  all  to  till  God's  earth  and  make 
it  fruitful.  For  though  upon  Adam,  in  whom  we  all  died, 
was  laid  as  a  punishment  that  he  should  eat  only  that  which 
he  had  planted  in  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  yet  mark,  O  Basil,  that 
the  Creator  inflicts  no  earthly  punishment  which  does  not  in 
the  end  bear  fruit  of  healing  and  of  gladness.  What  perfume 
is  so  sweet  "as  that  of  the  new-turned  soil  ?  And  what  so 
profitable  to  health  ?  When  the  Romans  of  old  time  began 
to  fall  from  virtue — such  virtue  as  was  permitted  to  those 
who  knew  not  God — the  first  sign  of  their  evil  state  was  the 
forgotten  plough.  And  never  again  can  Italy  be  blessed — if  it 
be  the  will  of  the  Almighty  that  peace  be  granted  her — until 
valley  and  mountain  side  and  many-watered  plain  are  rich 
with  her  children's  labour.  I  do  not  bid  you  live  in  silence, 
for  silence  is  not  always  a  good  counsellor ;  but  refrain  from 
merely  idle  speech,  and  strive,  O  Basil,  strive  with  all  the 
force  that  is  in  you,  that  your  thoughts  be  turned  upward. 
Go  now,  my  son.  It  shall  not  be  long  before  I  again  call 
you  to  my  tower.' 

So,  with  a  look  of  kindness  which  did  not  soften  to  a 
smile,  Benedict  dismissed  his  penitent.  When  the  door  had 
closed,  he  sat  for  a  few  minutes  with  head  bent,  then  roused 
himself,  glanced  at  the  clepsydra  which  stood  in  a  corner  of 


THE   ABBOT'S  TOWER  297 

the  room,  and  turned  a  page  or  two  of  the  volume  lying 
before  him.  Presently  his  attention  was  caught  by  the  sound 
of  fluttering  wings;  on  the  window  sill  had  again  alighted  the 
two  doves,  and  again  they  seemed  to  regard  him  curiously. 
The  aged  face  brightened  with  tenderness. 

'Welcome,'  he  murmured,  'ye  whose  love  is  innocent.' 
From  a  little  bag  that  lay  on  the  table  he  drew  grains,  and 
scattered  them  on  the  floor.     The  doves  flew  down  and  ate, 
and,  as  he  watched  them,  Benedict  seemed  to  forget  all  the 
sorrows  of  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

VIVAS  IN  DEO 

THE  telling  of  his  story  was  to  Basil  like  waking  from  a 
state  of  imperfect  consciousness  in  which  dream  and  reality 
had  indistinguishably  mingled.  Since  the  fight  with  the 
brigands  he  had  never  been  himself;  the  fever  in  his  blood 
made  him  incapable  of  wonted  thought  or  action ;  restored 
to  health,  he  looked  back  upon  those  days  with  such  an 
alien  sense  that  he  could  scarce  believe  he  had  done  the 
things  he  related.  Only  now  did  their  move  in  him  a 
natural  horror  when  he  thought  of  the  death  of  Marcian, 
a  natural  distress  when  he  remembered  his  bearing  to 
Veranilda.  Only  now  could  he  see  in  the  light  of  reason  all 
that  had  happened  between  his  talk  with  Sagaris  at  Aesernia 
and  his  riding  away  with  Venantius  from  the  villa  on  the 
island.  As  he  unfolded  the  story,  he  marvelled  at  himself, 
and  was  overcome  with  woe. 

There  needed  not  the  words  of  the  holy  abbot  to  show 
him  how  blindly  he  had  acted.  He  could  see  now  that, 
however  it  might  appear,  the  guilt  of  Marcian  was  quite 
unproved.  The  Syrian  slave  might  have  lied,  or  else  have 
uttered  a  mistaken  suspicion.  It  might  be  true  that  Marcian 
had  been  misled  by  some  calumniator  into  thinking  evil  of 
his  friend.  And  had  he  not  heard  the  declaration  of 
Veranilda,  that  she  had  suffered  no  wrong  at  his  hands? 
Basil  saw  the  face  of  his  beloved.  Only  a  man  possessed  by 
the  Evil  Spirit  could  have  answered  her  as  he  had  done. 
Was  not  the  fact  that  Marcian  had  brought  Veranilda  to  his 
villa  in  order  to  give  her  into  the  hands  of  Totila  sufficient 

293 


VIVAS   IN   DEO  299 

proof  that  he  had  neither  wronged  her  nor  meditated  wrong  ? 
Ay,  but  Basil  reminded  himself  that  he  had  accused 
Veranilda  of  amorous  complicity  with  Marcian.  And  at  this 
recollection  his  brain  whirled. 

Even  were  it  permitted  him  ever  to  behold  her  again,  how 
could  he  stand  before  her  ?  Must  she  not  abhor  him,  as  one 
whose  baseness  surpassed  all  she  had  thought  possible  in  the 
vilest  slave  ?  Jealousy  was  pardonable ;  in  its  rage,  a  man 
might  slay  and  be  forgiven.  But  for  the  reproach  with 
which  he  had  smitten  her — her,  pure  and  innocent — there 
could  be  no  forgiveness.  It  was  an  act  of  infamy,  branding 
him  for  ever. 

Thoughts  such  as  these  intermingled  with  his  reading  of 
the  Psalms  of  penitence.  Ever  and  again  grief  overwhelmed 
him,  and  he  wept  bitterly.  At  the  hour  of  the  evening  meal, 
he  would  willingly  have  remained  in  his  cell,  to  fast  and 
mourn  alone;  but  this,  he  felt,  would  have  been  to  shirk 
part  of  his  penance;  for,  though  the  brothers  knew  not  of 
his  sin,  he  could  not  meet  their  eyes  for  shame,  and  such 
humiliation  must  needs  be  salutary.  This  evening  other 
guests  sat  at  the  abbot's  table,  and  he  shrank  from  their 
notice,  for  though  they  were  but  men  of  humble  estate, 
pilgrims  from  Lucania,  he  felt  debased  before  them.  The 
reading,  to  which  all  listened  during  their  meal,  was  selected 
from  that  new  volume  of  Cassiodorus  so  esteemed  by  the 
abbot ;  it  closed  with  a  prayer  in  which  Basil  found  the  very 
utterance  his  soul  needed. 

'  O  Lord,  our  Teacher  and  Guide,  our  Advocate  and  Judge, 
Thou  the  Bestower  and  the  Admonitor,  terrible  and  clement, 
Rebuker  and  Consoler,  who  givest  sight  to  the  blind,  who 
makest  possible  to  the  weak  that  which  Thou  commandest, 
who  art  so  good  that  Thou  desirest  to  be  for  ever  petitioned, 
so  merciful  that  Thou  sufferest  no  one  to  despair;  grant  us 
that  which  we  ask  with  Thy  approval,  and  yet  more  that 
which  in  our  ignorance  we  fail  to  beseech.  How  weak  we 
are,  Thou  indeed  knowest ;  by  what  a  foe  we  are  beset,  Thou 
art  aware.  In  the  unequal  contest,  in  our  mortal  infirmity, 


300  VERANILDA 

we  turn  to  Thee,  for  it  is  the  glory  of  Thy  Majesty  when  the 
meek  sheep  overcomes  the  roaring  lion,  when  the  Evil  Spirit 
is  repulsed  by  feeble  flesh.  Grant  that  our  enemy,  who 
rejoices  in  our  offending,  may  be  saddened  by  the  sight  of 
human  happiness.  Amen.' 

He  rose,  for  the  first  time,  to  attend  the  midnight  office, 
Deodatus,  who  was  punctual  as  a  monk  at  all  the  hours, 
awaking  him  from  sleep.  But  Marcus  whispered  an  ad- 
monishing word. 

'I  praise  your  zeal,  good  brother;  nevertheless,  as  your 
physician,  I  cannot  suffer  your  night's  rest  to  be  broken. 
Descend  for  lauds,  if  you  will,  but  not  earlier.' 

Basil  bowed  in  obedience.  Lauds  again  saw  him  at 
prayer.  Hitherto,  when  they  were  together  in  the  oratory,  it 
had  been  the  habit  of  Deodatus  to  kneel  behind  his  master; 
this  morning  Basil  placed  himself  by  his  servant's  side. 
They  walked  away  together  in  the  pearly  light  of  dawn,  and 
Basil  led  the  way  to  a  sequestered  spot,  whence  there  was 
a  view  over  the  broad  valley  of  the  Liris.  Several  times  of 
late  he  had  come  here,  to  gaze  across  the  mountainous  land- 
scape, wondering  where  Veranilda  might  be.  Turning  to  his 
companion,  he  laid  a  hand  on  the  man's  shoulder,  and 
addressed  him  in  a  voice  of  much  gentleness. 

'Did  you  leave  nothing  behind  you,  Deodatus,  which 
would  make  the  thought  of  never  returning  to  your  home  a 
sorrow  ? ' 

'  Nothing,  my  dear  lord,'  was  the  reply.  '  In  my  lifetime 
I  have  seen  much  grief  and  little  solace.  All  I  loved  are 
dead.' 

'But  you  are  young.  Could  you  without  a  pang  say 
farewell  to  the  world  ? ' 

Deodatus  answered  timidly : 

'  Here  is  peace. ' 

Continuing  to  question,  Basil  learnt  that  for  this  man  the 
life  of  the  world  was  a  weariness  and  a  dread.  Hardships  of 
many  kinds  had  oppressed  him  from  childhood ;  his  was  a 
meek  soul,  which  had  no  place  amid  the  rudeness  and 


VIVAS   IN   DEO  301 

violence  of  the  times ;  from  the  first  hour,  the  cloistered  life 
had  cast  a  spell  upon  him. 

'  Here  is  peace,'  he  repeated.  '  Here  one  can  forget 
everything  but  to  worship  God.  Could  I  remain  here,  I 
were  the  happiest  of  men.' 

And  Basil  mused,  understanding,  approving,  yet  unable  to 
utter  the  same  words  for  himself.  His  eyes  strayed  towards 
the  far  valley,  shimmering  in  earliest  daylight.  He,  too,  had 
be  not  suffered  dread  things  whilst  living  in  the  world? 
And  could  he  expect  that  life  in  the  future  would  be  more 
kindly  to  him  ?  None  the  less  did  his  heart  yearn  for  that 
valley  of  human  tribulation.  He  struggled  to  subdue  it. 

'Deodatus,  pray  for  me,  that  I  may  have  strength  to  do 
that  which  I  see  to  be  the  best.' 

It  was  no  forced  humility.  Very  beautiful  in  Basil's  eyes 
showed  the  piety  and  calm  which  here  surrounded  him,  and 
his  reverence  for  the  founder  of  this  house  of  peace  fell  little 
short  of  that  with  which  he  regarded  the  Saints  in  heaven. 
Never  before  —  unless  it  were  at  certain  moments  when 
conversing  with  the  Lady  Silvia — had  he  felt  the  loveliness 
of  a  life  in  which  religion  was  supreme ;  and  never,  assuredly, 
had  there  stirred  within  him  a  spirit  so  devout.  He  longed 
to  attain  unto  righteousness,  that  entire  purity  of  will,  which, 
it  now  seemed  to  him,  could  be  enjoyed  only  in  monastic 
seclusion.  All  his  life  he  had  heard  praise  of  those  who 
renounced  the  world;  but  their  merit  had  been  to  him  a 
far-off,  uncomprehended  thing,  without  relation  to  himself. 
Now  he  understood.  A  man,  a  sinner,  it  behoved  him 
before  all  else  to  chasten  his  soul  that  he  might  be  pleasing 
unto  God ;  and  behold  the  way  !  For  one  who  had  sinned 
so  grievously,  it  might  well  be  that  there  was  no  other  path 
of  salvation. 

This  morning  he  went  forth  with  the  monks  to  labour. 
Brother  Marcus  conducted  him  to  a  plot  of  garden  ground 
where  there  was  light  work  to  be  done,  and  there  left  him. 
Willingly  did  Basil  set  about  this  task,  which  broke  the 
monotony  of  the  day,  and,  more  than  that,  was  in  itself 


302  VERANILDA 

agreeable  to  him.  He  had  always  found  pleasure  in  the 
rustic  life,  and  of  late,  at  his  Asculan  villa,  had  often  wished 
he  could  abide  in  quiet  for  the  rest  of  his  days  amid  the 
fields  and  the  vineyards.  Working  in  the  mellow  sunlight, 
above  him  the  soft  blue  sky  of  early  autumn,  and  all  around 
the  silence  of  mountain  and  of  forest,  he  felt  his  health  renew 
itself.  When  the  first  drops  of  sweat  stood  upon  his  fore- 
head he  wiped  them  away  with  earthy  fingers,  and  the  mere 
action — he  knew  not  why — gave  him  pleasure. 

But  of  a  sudden  he  became  aware  that  he  had  lost  some- 
thing. From  the  little  finger  of  his  left  hand  had  slipped  his 
signet  ring.  It  must  have  fallen  since  he  began  working,  and 
anxiously  he  searched  for  it  about  the  ground.  Whilst  he 
was  thus  occupied,  Marcus  came  towards  him,  carrying  a 
great  basket  of  vegetables.  Not  without  diffidence,  Basil  told 
what  had  happened. 

'  You  will  rebuke  me,  holy  brother,  for  heeding  such  a  loss. 
But  the  ring  is  very  old ;  it  has  been  worn  by  many  of  my 
ancestors,  to  them  it  came,  and  from  one  who  suffered 
martyrdom  in  the  times  of  Diocletian.' 

1  Then,  indeed,  I  did  well,'  replied  Marcus,  '  to  leave  it  on 
your  finger  during  your  sickness.  I  looked  at  it  and  saw  that 
it  was  a  Christian  seal.  Had  it  been  one  of  those  which  are 
yet  seen  too  often,  with  the  stamp  of  a  daemon,  I  should 
have  plucked  it  off,  and  perhaps  have  destroyed  it.  The  ring 
of  a  blessed  martyr !  Let  us  seek,  let  us  seek !  But,  brother 
Basil,'  he  added  gravely, '  has  there  passed  through  your  heart 
no  evil  thought?  I  like  not  this  falling  of  the  ring.' 

Basil  held  up  his  wasted  hand  with  a  smile. 

'  True,  true  ;  you  have  lost  flesh.  Be  thankful  for  it,  dear 
brother;  so  much  the  easier  you  combat  with  him  whose  ally 
is  this  body  of  death.  True,  the  ring  may  have  fallen  simply 
because  your  finger  was  so  thin.  But  be  warned,  O  Basil, 
against  that  habit  of  mind  which  interprets  in  an  earthly  sense 
things  of  divine  meaning.' 

'I  had  indeed  let  my  thoughts  dwell  upon  worldliness,' 
Basil  admitted. 


VIVAS   IN   DEO  303 

The  monk  smiled  a  satisfied  reproof. 

'  Even  so,  even  so !  And  look  you  !  In  the  moment  of 
your  avowal  my  hand  falls  upon  the  ring.' 

Rejoicing  together,  they  inspected  it.  In  the  gold  was  set 
an  onyx,  graven  with  the  monogram  of  Christ,  a  wreath,  and 
the  motto,  '  Vivas  in  Deo.'  Marcus  knelt,  and  pressed  the 
seal  to  his  forehead,  murmuring  ecstatically : 

'  The  ring  of  a  blessed  martyr  ! ' 

'  I  am  all  unworthy  to  wear  it,'  said  Basil,  sincerely  hesi- 
tating to  replace  it  on  his  finger.  '  Indeed,  I  will  not  do  so 
until  I  have  spoken  with  the  holy  father.' 

This  resolve  Marcus  commended,  and,  with  a  kindly 
word,  he  went  his  way.  Basil  worked  on.  To  discipline  his 
thoughts  he  kept  murmuring,  '  Vivas  in  Deo,'  and  reflecting 
upon  the  significance  of  the  words ;  for,  often  as  he  had  seen 
them,  he  had  never  till  now  mused  upon  their  meaning. 
What  was  the  life  in  God !  Did  it  mean  that  of  the  world  to 
come?  Ay,  but  how  attain  unto  eternal  blessedness  save 
by  striving  to  anticipate  on  earth  that  perfection  of  hereafter  ? 
And  so  was  he  brought  again  to  the  conclusion  that,  would 
he  assure  life  eternal,  he  must  renounce  all  that  lured  him  in 
mortality. 

The  brothers  returning  from  the  field  at  the  third  hour 
signalled  to  him  that  for  to-day  he  had  worked  enough.  One 
of  them,  in  passing,  gave  him  a  smile,  and  said  good- 
naturedly  : 

'  Thou  shalt  eat  the  labour  of  thine  hands ;  happy  shalt 
thou  be,  and  it  shall  be  well  with  thee.' 

Weary,  but  with  the  sense  of  healthful  fatigue,  Basil  rested 
for  an  hour  on  his  bed.  He  then  took  the  Psalter  and  opened 
it  at  hazard,  and  the  first  words  his  eyes  fell  upon  were : 

'  Thou  shalt  eat  the  labour  of  thine  hands ;  happy  shalt 
thou  be,  and  it  shall  be  well  with  thee.' 

'A  happy  omen,'  he  thought.  But  stay;  what  was  this 
that  followed  ? 

'  Thy  wife  shall  be  as  a  fruitful  vine  by  the  sides  of  thine 
house  ;  thy  children  like  olive  plants  round  about  thy  table. 


304  VERANILDA 

'Behold,  thus  shall  the  man  be  blessed  that  feareth  the 
Lord.' 

The  blood  rushed  into  his  cheeks.  He  sat  staring  at  the 
open  page  as  though  in  astonishment.  He  read  and  re-read 
the  short  psalm  of  which  these  verses  were  part,  and  if  a 
voice  had  spoken  it  to  him  from  above  he  could  scarce  have 
felt  more  moved  by  the  message.  Basil  had  never  been 
studious  of  the  Scriptures,  and,  if  ever  he  had  known  that 
they  contained  such  matter  as  this,  it  had  quite  faded  from 
his  memory.  He  thought  of  the  Holy  Book  as  hostile  to 
every  form  of  earthly  happiness,  its  promises  only  for  those 
who  lived  to  mortify  their  natural  desires.  Yet  here  was  the 
very  word  of  God  encouraging  him  in  his  heart's  hope. 
Were  not  men  wont  to  use  the  Bible  as  their  oracle,  opening 
the  pages  at  hazard,  even  as  he  had  done  ? 

It  was  long  before  he  could  subdue  his  emotions  so  as  to 
turn  to  the  reading  imposed  upon  him.  He  brought  him- 
self at  length  into  the  fitting  mind  by  remembering  that  this 
wondrous  promise  was  not  for  a  sinner,  a  murderer ;  and  that 
only  could  he  hope  to  merit  such  blessing  if  he  had  truly 
repented,  and  won  forgiveness.  Stricken  down  by  this  reflec- 
tion he  grew  once  more  humble  and  sad. 

In  the  afternoon,  as  he  was  pacing  alone  in  a  little  portico 
near  the  abbot's  tower,  the  prior  approached  him.  This 
reverend  man  had  hitherto  paid  little  or  no  attention  to 
Basil.  He  walked  ever  with  eyes  cast  down  as  if  in  deep 
musing,  yet  it  was  well  known  that  he  observed  keenly,  and 
that  his  duties  to  the  community  were  discharged  with 
admirable  zeal  and  competence.  In  the  world  he  would 
have  been  a  great  administrator.  In  the  monastery  he 
seemed  to  find  ample  scope  for  his  powers,  and  never  varied 
from  the  character  of  a  man  who  set  piety  and  learning  above 
all  else.  Drawing  nigh  to  Basil  he  greeted  him  gently,  and 
asked  whether  it  would  give  him  pleasure  to  see  the  copyists 
at  work.  Basil  gladly  accepted  this  invitation,  and  was  con- 
ducted to  a  long,  well-lit  room,  where,  at  great  desks,  sat 
some  five  or  six  of  the  brothers,  each  bent  over  a  parchment 


VIVAS   IN   DEO  305 

which  would  some  day  form  portion  of  a  volume,  writing 
with  slow  care,  with  the  zeal  of  devotees  and  with  the  joy  of 
artists.  Not  a  whisper  broke  upon  the  silence  in  which  the 
pen-strokes  alone  were  audible.  Stepping  softly,  the  prior 
led  his  companion  from  desk  to  desk,  drawing  attention, 
without  a  word,  to  the  nature  of  the  book  which  in  each  case 
was  being  copied.  It  surprised  Basil  to  see  that  the  monks 
busied  themselves  in  reproducing  not  only  religious  works 
but  also  the  writings  of  authors  who  had  lived  in  pagan  times, 
and  of  this  he  spoke  when  the  prior  had  led  him  forth  again. 

'  Have  you  then  been  taught,'  asked  the  prior,  '  that  it  is 
sinful  to  read  Virgil  and  Statius,  Livy  and  Cicero  ? ' 

'Not  so,  reverend  father,'  he  replied  modestly,  his  eyes 
falling  before  the  good-humoured  gaze.  'But  I  was  so  ill 
instructed  as  to  think  that  to  those  who  had  withdrawn  from 
the  world  it  might  not  be  permitted.' 

'Father  Hieronymus  had  no  such  misgiving,'  said  the 
prior,  '  for  he  himself,  at  Bethlehem,  taught  children  to  read 
the  ancient  poets ;  not  unmindful  that  the  blessed  Paul  him- 
self, in  those  writings  which  are  the  food  of  our  spirit,  takes 
occasion  to  cite  from  more  than  one  poet  who  knew  not 
Christ.  If  you  would  urge  the  impurity  and  idolatry  which 
deface  so  many  pages  of  the  ancients,  let  me  answer  you  in 
full  with  a  brief  passage  of  the  holy  Augustine.  "  For,"  says 
he,  "  as  the  Egyptians  had  not  only  idols  to  be  detested  by 
Israelites,  but  also  precious  ornaments  of  gold  and  silver,  to 
be  carried  off  by  them  in  flight,  so  the  science  of  the  Gentiles 
is  not  only  composed  of  superstitions  to  be  abhorred,  but  of 
liberal  arts  to  be  used  in  the  service  of  truth.'" 

They  walked  a  short  distance  without  further  speech,  then 
the  prior  stopped. 

,'Many  there  are,'  he  said,  with  a  gesture  indicating  the 
world  below,  '  who  think  that  we  flee  the  common  life  only 
for  our  souls'  salvation.  So,  indeed,  it  has  been  in  former 
times,  and  God  forbid  that  we  should  speak  otherwise  than 
with  reverence  of  those  who  abandoned  all  and  betook  them- 
selves to  the  desert  that  they  might  live  in  purity  and  holiness. 

U 


306  VERANILDA 

But  to  us,  by  the  grace  bestowed  upon  our  holy  father,  has 
another  guidance  been  shown.  Know,  my  son,  that,  in  an  evil 
time,  we  seek  humbly  to  keep  clear,  not  for  ourselves  only,  but 
for  all  men,  the  paths  of  righteousness  and  of  understanding. 
With  heaven's  blessing  we  strive  to  preserve  what  else  might 
utterly  perish,  to  become  not  only  guardians  of  God's  law 
but  of  man's  learning.' 

Therewith  did  the  prior  take  his  leave,  and  Basil  pondered 
much  on  what  he  had  heard.  It  was  a  new  light  to  him,  for, 
as  his  instructor  suspected,  he  shared  the  common  view  of 
coenobite  aims,  and  still  but  imperfectly  understood  the  law 
of  Benedict.  All  at  once  the  life  of  this  cloister  appeared 
before  him  in  a  wider  and  nobler  aspect.  In  the  silent  monks 
bent  over  their  desks  he  saw  much  more  than  piety  and 
learning.  They  rose  to  a  dignity  surpassing  that  of  consul 
or  praefect.  With  their  pens  they  warred  against  the  powers 
of  darkness,  a  grander  conflict  than  any  in  which  men  drew 
sword.  He  wished  he  could  talk  of  this  with  his  cousin  Decius, 
for  Decius  knew  so  much  more  than  he,  and  could  look  so 
much  deeper  into  the  sense  of  things. 

Days  passed.  Not  yet  did  he  receive  a  summons  to  the 
abbot's  tower.  Rapidly  recovering  strength,  he  worked  long 
in  the  fields,  and  scrupulously  performed  his  penitential 
exercises.  Only,  when  he  had  finished  his  daily  reading  of 
the  appointed  psalms,  he  turned  to  that  which  begins : 
c  Blessed  is  every  one  that  feareth  the  Lord,  that  walketh  in 
His  ways.'  How  could  he  err  in  dwelling  upon  the  word  of 
God  ?  One  day,  as  he  closed  the  book,  his  heart  was  so  full 
of  a  strange,  half-hopeful,  half-fearful  longing,  that  it  over- 
flowed in  tears;  and  amid  his  weeping  came  a  memory  of 
Marcian,  a  tender  memory  of  the  days  of  their  friendship : 
for  the  first  time  he  bewailed  the  dead  man  as  one  whom  he 
had  dearly  loved. 

Then  there  sounded  a  knock  at  the  door  of  his  cell.  Com- 
manding himself,  and  turning  away  so  as  to  hide  his  face,  he 
bade  enter. 

And,  looking  up,  he  beheld  his  servant  Felix. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  KING  OF  THE  GOTHS 

TRANSPORTED  from  grief  to  joy,  Basil  sprang  forward  and 
clasped  Felix  in  his  arms. 

'  God  be  thanked,'  he  exclaimed,  '  that  I  see  you  alive  and 
well !  Whence  come  you  ?  What  is  your  news  ? ' 

With  his  wonted  grave  simplicity,  Felix  told  that  he  had 
long  since  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the  wound,  but 
had  remained  at  Aesernia,  unable  to  obtain  permission  to  go 
in  search  of  his  master.  The  Gothic  army  was  now  advanc- 
ing along  the  Via  Latina;  Basil's  followers  were  united  with 
the  troop  under  Venantius ;  and  on  their  arrival  at  Casinum, 
Felix  succeeded  in  getting  leave  to  climb  to  the  monastery. 
He  had  been  assured  that  his  lord  had  recovered  health,  and 
was  still  sojourning  with  the  holy  men;  but  by  whom  this 
news  had  been  brought  he  could  not  say.  Doubtless  Venan- 
tius had  held  communication  with  the  monastery. 

'  And  you  are  here  alone  ? '  asked  Basil,  fearing  still  to  utter 
the  question  which  was  foremost  in  his  mind. 

'  Alone  of  my  lord's  men.  I  followed  those  that  came  with 
the  king.' 

4  The  king  ?     Totila  is  here  ? ' 

'It  was  rumoured,'  replied  Felix,  in  a  reverent  voice,  *tnat 
he  desired  to  speak  of  deep  matters  with  the  holy  Benedict. 
They  are  even  now  conversing.' 

Basil  fell  into  a  great  agitation.  Absorbed  in  his  private 
griefs,  and  in  thoughts  of  eternity,  he  had  all  but  forgotten  the 
purpose  with  which  he  crossed  the  Apennines  at  the  summons 
of  Marcian.  The  name  of  Totila  revived  his  interest  in  the  pro- 

307 


308  VERANILDA 

gress  of  the  war,  but  at  the  same  time  struck  his  heart  with 
a  chill  misgiving.  With  what  eyes  would  the  king  regard 
Marcian's  slayer?  Was  he  more  likely  to  pardon  the  deed  if 
he  knew  (as  assuredly  he  must)  that  it  was  done  in  jealous 
love  of  Veranilda?  The  words  he  had  not  dared  to  speak 
leapt  to  his  lips. 

'  Felix,  know  you  anything  of  the  Gothic  lady — of  her  whom 
we  lost  ? ' 

'  The  lord  Venantius  brought  her  to  Aesernia,'  was  the  grave 
reply,  '  and  she  is  now  among  the  wives  and  daughters  of  the 
Gothic  lords  who  move  with  the  army.' 

Answering  other  questions,  Felix  said  that  he  had  not  seen 
Veranilda,  and  that  he  knew  nothing  of  her  save  what  he  had 
heard  from  those  of  Basil's  men  who  had  been  at  the  island 
villa,  and,  subsequently,  from  the  gossip  of  the  camp.  A 
story  had  got  abroad  that  Veranilda  was  the  lost  princess  of 
the  Amal  line  surviving  in  Italy,  and  it  was  commonly  thought 
among  the  Goths  that  their  king  intended  to  espouse  her — 
the  marriage  to  be  celebrated  in  Rome,  when  Rome  once  more 
acknowledged  the  Gothic  ruler.  This  did  Felix  report  un- 
willingly, and  only  because  his  master  insisted  upon  knowing 
all. 

'Very  like  it  is  true,'  commented  Basil,  forcing  a  smile. 
'  You  know,  my  good  Felix,  that  the  Emperor  would  fain  have 
had  her  adorn  his  court ;  and  I  would  rather  see  her  Queen  of 
Italy.  But  tell  me  now,  last  of  all,  what  talk  there  has  been 
of  me.  Or  has  my  name  been  happily  forgotten  ? ' 

'My  dear  lord's  followers,'  replied  Felix,  'have  not  ceased 
to  speak  of  him  among  themselves,  and  to  pray  for  his 
safety.' 

'  That  I  gladly  believe.  But  I  see  there  is  more  to  tell. 
Out  with  it  all,  good  fellow.  I  have  suffered  worse  things  than 
any  that  can  lie  before  me.' 

In  sad  obedience,  the  servant  made  known  that  he  and  his 
fellows  had  been  closely  questioned,  first  by  Venantius,  later, 
some  two  or  three  of  them,  by  the  king  himself,  regarding 
their  master's  course  of  life  since  he  went  into  Picenum. 


THE   KING  OF  THE   GOTHS      309 

They  had  told  the  truth,  happy  in  that  they  could  do  so  with- 
out fear  and  without  shame. 

'And  how  did  the  king  bear  himself  to  you  ?'  asked  Basil 
eagerly. 

'  With  that  nobleness  which  became  him,'  was  the  fervid 
answer.  '  It  is  said  among  the  Goths  that  only  a  lie  or  an 
act  of  cowardice  can  move  Totila  to  wrath  against  one  who 
is  in  his  power ;  and  after  speaking  face  to  face  with  him,  I 
well  believe  it.  He  questioned  me  in  few  words,  but  not  as 
a  tyrant ;  and  when  I  had  replied  as  best  I  could,  he  dismissed 
me  with  a  smile.' 

Basil's  head  drooped. 

'Yes,  Totila  is  noble,'  fell  softly  from  him.  'Let  be  what 
will  be.  He  is  worthier  than  I.' 

A  knock  sounded  again  at  the  door  of  the  cell,  and  there 
entered  Marcus.  His  keen  and  kindly  face  betrayed  pertur- 
bation of  spirit,  and  after  looking  from  Basil  to  the  new  comer 
and  then  at  Basil  again,  he  said  in  a  nervous  voice : 

'  The  lord  abbot  bids  you  repair  at  once,  my  brother,  to 
the  prior's  room.' 

'I  go,'  was  the  prompt  reply. 

As  they  left  the  room,  Marcus  caught  Basil's  arm  and 
whispered : 

'  It  is  the  King  of  the  Goths  who  awaits  you.  But  have 
courage,  dear  brother ;  his  face  is  mild.  Despite  his  error,  he 
has  borne  himself  reverently  to  our  holy  father.' 

'  Know  you  what  has  passed  between  them  ? '  asked  Basil, 
also  in  a  whisper. 

'  That  none  may  know.  But  when  Totila  came  forth  from 
the  tower,  he  had  the  face  of  one  who  has  heard  strange 
things.  Who  can  say  what  the  Almighty  purposes  by  the 
power  of  his  servant  Benedict  ?  Not  unguided,  surely,  did 
the  feet  of  the  misbelieving  warrior  turn  to  climb  this 
mount.' 

Leaving  the  poet  monk  to  nurse  his  hopes,  Basil  betook 
himself  with  rapid  steps  to  the  prior's  room.  At  the  door 
stood  three  armed  men ;  two  had  the  long  flaxen  hair  which 


310  VERANILDA 

proclaimed  them  Goths,  the  third  was  Venantius.  A  look  of 
friendly  recognition  was  all  that  passed  between  Basil  and  his 
countryman,  who  straightway  admitted  him  to  the  room, 
announced  his  name,  and  retired.  Alone — his  attitude  that 
of  one  who  muses — sat  the  Gothic  King.  He  was  bare- 
headed and  wore  neither  armour  nor  weapon ;  his  apparel  a 
purple  tunic,  with  a  loose,  gold-broidered  belt,  and  a  white 
mantle  purple  seamed.  Youth  shone  in  his  ruddy  counte- 
nance, and  the  vigour  of  perfect  manhood  graced  his  frame. 
The  locks  that  fell  to  his  shoulders  had  a  darker  hue  than  that 
common  in  the  Gothic  race,  being  a  deep  burnished  chestnut; 
but  upon  his  lips  and  chin  the  hair  gleamed  like  pale  gold. 
Across  his  forehead,  from  temple  to  temple,  ran  one  deep 
furrow,  and  this,  together  with  a  slight  droop  of  the  eyelids, 
touched  his  visage  with  a  cast  of  melancholy,  whereby,  per- 
haps, the  comely  features  became  more  royal. 

Upon  Basil,  who  paused  at  a  respectful  distance,  he  fixed  a 
gaze  of  meditative  intentness,  and  gazed  so  long  in  silence 
that  the  Roman  could  not  but  at  length  lift  his  eyes.  Meet- 
ing the  glance  with  grave  good  nature,  Totila  spoke  firmly  and 
frankly. 

'  Lord  Basil,  they  tell  me  that  you  crossed  Italy  to  draw 
your  sword  in  my  cause.  Is  this  the  truth  ? ' 

'It  is  the  truth,  O  king.' 

'  How  comes  it  then  that  you  are  laden  with  the  death  of 
one  who  had  long  proved  himself  my  faithful  servant,  one 
who,  when  you  encountered  him,  was  bound  on  a  mission  of 
great  moment  ? ' 

'  He  whom  I  slew,'  answered  Basil,  '  was  the  man  whom  of 
all  men  I  most  loved.  I  thought  him  false  to  me,  and  struck 
in  a  moment  of  madness.' 

'  Then  you  have  since  learnt  that  you  were  deceived  ? ' 

Basil  paused  a  moment. 

'Gracious  lord,  that  I  accused  him  falsely,  I  no  longer 
doubt,  having  had  time  to  reflect  upon  many  things,  and  to 
repent  of  my  evil  haste.  But  I  am  still  ignorant  of  the 
cause  which  led  him  to  think  ill  of  me,  and  so  to  speak  and 


THE   KING  OF  THE  GOTHS      311 

act  in  a  way  which  could  not  but  make  my  heart  burn  against 
him.' 

'Something of  this  too  I  have  heard,' said  the  king,  his  blue 
eyes  resting  upon  Basil's  countenance  with  a  thoughtful 
interest.  'You  believe,  then,  that  your  friend  was  wholly 
blameless  towards  you,  in  intention  and  in  act  ? ' 

'  Save  inasmuch  as  credited  that  strange  slander,  borne  I 
know  not  upon  what  lips.' 

'May  I  hear,'  asked  Totila,  'what  this  slander  charged 
upon  you  ? ' 

Basil  raised  his  head,  and  put  all  his  courage  into  a 
brief  reply. 

'That  I  sought  to  betray  the  lady  Veranilda  into  the 
hands  of  the  Greeks.' 

'  And  you  think,'  said  the  king  slowly,  meditatively,  his 
eyes  still  searching  Basil's  face,  '  that  your  friend  could 
believe  you  capable  of  that  ? ' 

'  How  he  could,  I  know  not,'  came  the  sad  reply.  '  Yet 
I  must  needs  think  it  was  so.' 

'  Why  ?  '  sounded  from  the  king's  lips  abruptly,  and  with 
a  change  to  unexpected  sternness.  '  What  forbids  you  the 
more  natural  thought  that  this  man,  this  Marcian,  was  him- 
self your  slanderer  ? ' 

'Thinking  so,  O  king,  I  slew  him.  Thinking  so,  I  de- 
filed my  tongue  with  base  suspicion  of  Veranilda.  Being 
now  again  in  my  right  mind,  I  know  that  my  accusation  of 
her  was  frenzy,  and  therefore  I  choose  rather  to  believe  that 
I  wronged  Marcian  than  that  he  could  conceive  so  base  a 
treachery.' 

Totila  reflected.  All  but  a  smile  as  of  satisfaction  lurked 
within  his  eyes. 

'  Know  you,'  he  next  inquired,  'by  what  means  Marcian 
obtained  charge  of  the  lady  Veranilda?  ' 

'  Of  that  I  am  as  ignorant  as  of  how  she  was  first  carried 
into  captivity.' 

'Yet,'  said  the  king  sharply,  'you  conversed  with  her 
after  Marcian's  death.' 


3i2  VERANILDA 

'Gracious  lord,'  answered  Basil  in  low  tones,  'it  were 
miscalled  conversing.  With  blood  upon  my  hands,  I  said  I 
scarce  knew  what,  and  would  not  give  ear  to  the  words 
which  should  have  filled  me  with  remorse.' 

There  was  again  a  brief  silence.  Totila  let  his  eyes 
stray  for  a  moment,  then  spoke  again  meditatively. 

'You  sought  vainly  for  this  maiden,  whilst  she  was  kept 
in  ward.  Being  your  friend,  did  not  Marcian  lend  his  aid 
to  discover  her  for  you  ? ' 

'  He  did  so,  but  fruitlessly.  And  when  at  length  he  found 
her,  his  mind  to  me  had  changed.' 

'  Strangely,  it  must  be  confessed,'  said  the  king.  His  eyes 
were  again  fixed  upon  Basil  with  a  look  of  pleasant  interest. 
'  Some  day,  perchance,  you  may  learn  how  that  came  about; 
meanwhile,  you  do  well  to  think  good  rather  than  evil. 
In  truth,  it  would  be  difficult  to  do  otherwise  in  this  dwell- 
ing of  piety  and  peace.  Is  there  imposed  upon  you  some 
term  of  penance  ?  I  scarce  think  you  have  it  in  mind  to  turn 
monk  ? ' 

The  last  words,  though  not  irreverently  uttered,  marked  a 
change  in  Totila's  demeanour.  He  seemed  to  lay  aside  an 
unwonted  gravity,  to  become  the  ruler  of  men,  the  warrior, 
the  conqueror.  His  forehead  lost  its  long  wrinkle,  as,  with 
eyebrows  bent  and  lips  compressed  into  a  rallying  half 
smile,  he  seemed  to  challenge  all  the  manhood  in  him  he 
addressed. 

'  For  that,'  Basil  replied  frankly,  '  I  lack  the  calling.' 

'Well  said.  And  how  tends  your  inclination  as  regards 
the  things  of  this  world  ?  Has  it  changed  in  aught  since  you 
came  hither  ? ' 

'  In  nothing,  O  king,'  was  the  firm  response.  '  I  honour 
the  Goth,  even  as  I  love  my  country.' 

'Spoken  like  a  man.  But  I  hear  that  you  have  passed 
through  a  long  sickness,  and  your  cheek  yet  lacks  something 
of  its  native  hue.  It  might  be  well  if  you  took  your  ease  yet 
a  little  with  these  good  bedesmen.' 

'It  is  true  that  I  have  not  yet  all  my  strength,'  answered 


THE   KING  OF  THE   GOTHS      313 

Basil.  '  Moreover,'  he  added,  lowering  his  voice,  '  I  would 
fain  lighten  my  soul  of  the  sin  that  burdens  it.  It  may  be 
that,  ere  long,  the  holy  father  will  grant  me  absolution.' 

Totila  nodded  with  a  grave  smile. 

'  Be  it  so.  When  you  are  sound  in  flesh  and  spirit,  follow 
me  northward.  I  shall  then  have  more  to  say  to  you.' 

The  look  accompanying  these  words  lent  them  a  signifi- 
cance which  put  confusion  into  Basil's  mind.  He  saw  the 
courteous  gesture  wherewith  the  king  dismissed  him ;  he 
bowed  and  withdrew ;  but  when  he  had  left  the  room  he 
stood  as  one  bewildered,  aware  of  nothing,  his  eyes  turned 
vacantly  upon  some  one  who  addressed  him.  Presently  he 
found  himself  walking  apart  with  Venantius,  who  spoke  to 
him  of  public  affairs,  apprised  him  of  the  course  of  the 
war  during  these  past  weeks,  and  uttered  the  hope  that 
before  the  end  of  the  year  the  liberators  would  enter  Rome. 
It  was  true  that  the  Emperor  had  at  length  charged  Beli- 
sarius  with  the  task  of  reconquering  Italy,  but  months  must 
pass  before  an  army  could  be  assembled  and  transported ; 
by  the  latest  news  the  great  commander  was  in  Illyria, 
striving  to  make  a  force  out  of  fresh-recruited  barbarians, 
and  lamenting  the  avarice  of  Justinian  which  grudged  him 
needful  supplies.  And  as  he  listened  to  all  this,  Basil  felt  a 
new  ardour  glow  within  him.  He  had  ever  worshipped  the 
man  of  heroic  virtues ;  once  upon  a  time  it  was  Belisarius 
who  fired  his  zeal ;  now  his  eyes  dazzled  with  the  glory  of 
Totila;  he  burned  to  devote  a  loyal  service  to  this  brave 
and  noble  king. 

Suddenly  there  sounded  a  trumpet.  Its  note  broke 
strangely  upon  the  monastic  stillness,  and,  in  a  moment, 
echoed  clear  from  the  mountains. 

'The  king  goes  forth,'  said  Venantius.  'I  must  leave 
you.  Join  us  speedily  yonder.' 

He  pointed  towards  Rome.  On  Basil's  lips  quivered  a 
word,  a  question,  but  before  it  could  be  uttered  the  soldier 
had  stridden  away,  his  casque  gleaming  in  the  sun,  and  his 
sword  clanking  beside  him. 


314  VERANILDA 

Again  with  mind  confused,  Basil  went  to  his  cell,  and  sat 
there  head  on  hand,  trying  to  recover  the  mood,  the  thoughts, 
with  which  he  had  risen  this  morning.  But  everything  was 
changed.  He  could  no  longer  think  of  the  past ;  the  future 
called  to  him,  and  its  voice  was  like  that  of  the  Gothic 
trumpet,  stirring  his  blood,  urging  him  to  activity.  At  mid- 
day some  one  knocked,  and  there  entered  Deodatus. 

'  Where  is  Felix  ? '  was  Basil's  first  question. 

Felix  was  gone,  but  only  to  the  town  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountain,  where  he  and  two  of  his  fellows  would  abide 
until  their  master  left  the  monastery.  With  this  message 
Deodatus  had  been  charged  by  Venantius.  He  added  that 
Felix  had  been  dismissed,  at  the  abbot's  order,  during 
Basil's  interview  with  the  king. 

'I  understand,'  said  Basil  in  himself;  and  during  the  rest 
of  the  day  he  strove  with  all  the  force  of  his  will  to  recover 
calm  and  pious  thoughts.  In  the  night  that  followed  he 
slept  little ;  it  was  now  the  image  of  Veranilda  that  hovered 
before  him  and  kept  him  wakeful,  perturbed  with  a  tender 
longing.  God,  it  might  be,  would  pardon  him  his  offence 
against  the  Divine  law ;  but  could  he  look  for  forgive- 
ness from  Veranilda?  When  he  thought  of  the  king's  last 
words  he  was  lured  with  hope ;  when  he  reasoned  upon  this 
hope,  it  turned  to  a  mocking  emptiness.  And  through  the  next 
day,  and  the  next  again,  his  struggle  still  went  on.  He 
worked  and  prayed  as  usual,  and  read  the  Psalms  of  peni- 
tence not  once  only,  but  several  times  in  the  four-and-twenty 
hours;  that  other  psalm,  to  which  he  had  turned  for 
strengthening  of  the  spirit,  he  no  longer  dared  to  open.  And 
all  this  time  he  scarce  spoke  with  any  one ;  not  that  the 
brethren  looked  upon  him  with  less  kindness,  or  held  him  at 
a  distance,  but  the  rebuke  of  his  own  conscience  kept  him 
mute.  He  felt  that  his  communion  with  these  holy  men  was 
in  seeming  only,  and  it  shamed  him  to  contrast  their  quiet 
service  of  the  Eternal  with  the  turbid  worldliness  of  his  own 
thoughts. 

During  these  days  the  abbot  was  not  seen.     Venturing, 


THE   KING  OF  THE   GOTHS      315 

at  length,  when  he  happened  to  find  himself  alone  with 
Marcus,  to  speak  of  this,  he  learnt  that  the  holy  father  was 
not  in  his  wonted  health  ;  Marcus  added  that  the  disorder 
had  resulted  from  the  visit  of  the  king.  After  Totila's 
departure,  Benedict  had  passed  hours  in  solitary  prayer, 
until  a  faintness  came  upon  him,  from  which  he  could  not 
yet  recover.  Basil  was  turning  away  sadly,  when  the  monk 
touched  his  arm,  and  said  in  a  troubled  voice  : 

'  Many  times  he  has  spoken  of  you,  dear  brother.' 

'  Would,'  replied  Basil, '  that  I  were  worthy  of  his  thoughts.' 

'Did  he  think  you  unworthy,'  said  Marcus,  '  he  would  not 
grieve  that  you  must  so  soon  go  from  among  us.' 

'  The  holy  father  has  said  that  I  must  soon  leave  you  ? ' 

Marcus  nodded  gravely,  and  walked  away. 

Another  week  passed.  By  stern  self-discipline,  Basil  had 
fixed  his  thoughts  once  more  on  things  spiritual,  and  the 
result  appeared  in  a  quiet  contentment.  He  waited  upon 
the  will  of  Benedict,  which  he  had  come  to  regard  as  one 
with  the  will  of  God.  And  at  length  the  expected  summons 
came.  It  was  on  the  evening  of  Saturday,  after  vespers; 
the  abbot  had  been  present  at  the  office,  and,  as  he  went 
forth  from  the  oratory,  he  bade  Basil  follow  him.  They 
entered  the  tower,  and  Benedict,  who  walked  feebly,  sat  for 
some  moments  silent  in  his  chair,  as  if  he  had  need  of 
repose  before  the  effort  of  speaking.  Through  the  window 
streamed  a  warm  light,  illumining  the  aged  face  turned 
thither  with  eyes  which  dreamt  upon  the  vanishing  day. 

'  So  you  are  no  longer  impatient  to  be  gone  ? '  were  the 
abbot's  first  words,  spoken  in  a  voice  which  had  not  lost  its 
music,  though  weakness  made  it  low. 

'  My  father,'  answered  Basil,  '  I  have  striven  with  myself 
and  God  has  helped  me.' 

He  knew  that  it  was  needless  to  say  more.  The  eyes  bent 
upon  him  read  all  his  thoughts ;  the  confessions,  the  plead- 
ings, he  might  have  uttered,  all  lay  open  before  that  calm 
intelligence, 

'  It  is  true,  dear  son,'  said  Benedict,  '  that  you  have  fought 


3i6  VERANILDA 

bravely,  and  your  countenance  declares  that,  in  some 
measure,  victory  has  been  granted  you.  That  it  is  not  the 
complete  victory  of  those  who  put  the  world  for  ever  beneath 
their  feet,  shall  not  move  me  to  murmur.  The  Lord  of  the 
vineyard  biddeth  whom  He  will ;  not  all  are  called  to  the 
same  labour;  it  may  be — for  in  this  matter  I  see  but  darkly 
— it  may  be  that  the  earthly  strife  to  which  your  heart 
impels  you  shall  serve  the  glory  of  the  Highest.  As  indeed 
doth  every  act  of  man,  for  how  can  it  be  otherwise  ?  But  I 
speak  of  the  thought,  the  purpose,  whereby  '  in  the  end  of  all 
things,  all  must  be  judged.' 

Basil  heard  these  sentences  with  a  deep  joy.  There  was 
silence,  and  when  the  aged  voice  again  spoke,  it  was  in  a 
tone  yet  more  solemn.  Benedict  had  risen. 

'Answer  me,  my  son,  and  speak  as  in  the  presence  of 
God,  whom  I  humbly  serve.  Do  you  truly  repent  of  the 
sin  whereof  you  made  confession  to  me  ?  ' 

Kneeling,  Basil  declared  his  penitence.  Thereupon,  Bene- 
dict, looking  upwards,  opened  his  lips  in  prayer. 

*  Receive,  O  Lord,  our  humble  supplications,  and  to  me, 
who  above  all  have  need  of  Thy  compassion,  graciously  give 
ear.  Spare  Thou  this  penitent,  that,  by  Thy  mercy,  he  may 
escape  condemnation  in  the  judgment  to  come.  Let  him  not 
know  the  dread  of  darkness,  nor  the  pang  of  fire.  Having 
turned  from  his  way  of  error  into  the  path  of  righteousness, 
be  he  not  again  stricken  with  the  wounds  of  sin,  but  grant 
Thou  that  there  abide  with  him  for  ever  that  soul's  health 
which  Thy  grace  hath  bestowed  and  Thy  mercy  hath  estab- 
lished.' 

As  he  listened,  Basil's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  when 
bidden  to  rise  he  felt  as  one  who  has  thrown  off  a  burden ; 
rejoicing  in  his  recovered  strength  of  body  and  soul,  he 
gazed  into  that  venerable  face  with  gratitude  too  great  for 
words. 

'  Remember  now  thy  Creator  in  the  days  of  thy  youth.' 
It  was  with  a  parent's  tenderness  that  Benedict  now  spoke. 
'  I  am  old,  O  Basil,  and  have  but  a  few  more  steps  to  take 


THE  KING  OF  THE   GOTHS      317 

upon  this  earth.  Looking  upon  me,  you  see  long  promise 
of  life  before  you.  And  yet ' 

The  soft  accents  were  suspended.  For  a  moment  Bene- 
dict gazed  as  though  into  the  future ;  then,  with  a  wave  of 
his  hand,  passed  to  another  thought. 

1  To-morrow  you  will  join  with  us  in  the  Holy  Communion. 
You  will  pass  the  day  in  sober  joy  among  the  brethren,  not 
one  of  whom  but  shares  your  gladness  and  desires  your  wel- 
fare. And  at  sunrise  on  the  day  after,  you  will  go  forth  from 
our  gates.  Whether  to  return,  I  know  not ;  be  that  with  the 
Ruler  of  All.  If  again  you  climb  this  mount,  I  shall  not  be 
here  to  bid  you  welcome.  Pray  humbly,  even  as  I  do,  that 
we  may  meet  in  the  life  eternal.' 

After  Mass  on  the  morrow,  when  he  had  joyfully  partaken 
of  the  Eucharist,  Basil  was  bidden  to  the  priest's  room. 
This  time  it  was  the  prior  himself  who  received  him,  and 
with  an  address  which  indicated  the  change  in  the  position 
of  the  penitent,  now  become  an  ordinary  guest. 

'  Lord  Basil,  your  follower,  Deodatus,  is  minded  to  fulfil 
the  prophecy  of  his  name,  and  tells  me  that  it  would  be  with 
your  good  will.  Are  you  content  to  deprive  yourself  of  his 
service,  that  he  may  continue  to  abide  with  us,  and  after  due 
preparation,  take  the  vows  of  our  community  ?  ' 

'  Content,'  was  the  reply,  { and  more  than  content.  If  ever 
man  seemed  born  for  the  holy  life,  it  is  he.  I  entreat  you, 
reverend  father,  to  favour  his  desire.' 

'Be  it  so.  I  have  spoken  of  this  matter  with  the  lord 
abbot,  who  has  graciously  given  his  consent.  Let  me  now 
make  known  to  you  that,  at  sunrise  to-morrow,  your  atten- 
dants who  have  been  sojourning  at  Casinum,  will  await  you 
by  the  gate  of  the  monastery.  I  wish  you,  dear  lord,  a  fair 
journey.  Let  your  thoughts  sometimes  turn  to  us;  by  us 
you  will  ever  be  remembered.' 

Long  before  the  morrow's  sunrise,  Basil  was  stirring.  By 
the  light  of  his  little  lamp,  he  and  Deodatus  conversed  to- 
gether, no  longer  as  master  and  servant,  but  as  loving  friends, 
until  the  bell  called  them  to  matins.  The  night  was  chill; 


318  VERANILDA 

under  a  glistening  moon  all  the  valley  land  was  seen  to  be 
deep  covered  with  far-spreading  mist,  whereamid  the  mount 
of  the  monastery  and  the  dark  summits  round  about  rose 
like  islands  in  a  still,  white  sea.  When  matins  and  lauds 
were  over,  many  of  the  monks  embraced  and  tenderly  took 
leave  of  the  departing  guest.  The  last  to  do  so  was  Marcus, 
who  led  him  aside  and  whispered  : 

1 1  see  you  have  again  put  on  your  ring,  as  was  right.  Let 
me,  I  beg  of  you,  once  more  touch  it  with  my  lips.' 

Having  done  so  with  the  utmost  reverence,  he  clasped 
Basil  in  his  arms,  kissed  him  on  either  cheek,  and  said, 
amid  tears : 

1  Lest  we  should  never  meet  again,  take  and  keep  this ;  not 
for  its  worth,  for  God  knows  it  has  little,  but  in  memory  of 
my  love.' 

The  gift  was  a  little  book,  a  beautifully  written  copy  of  all 
the  verses  composed  by  the  good  Marcus  in  honour  of  Bene- 
dict and  of  the  Sacred  Mount  of  Casinum. 

Holding  it  against  his  heart,  Basil  rode  down  into  the 
mist. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
AT  HADRIAN'S  VILLA 

ROME  waited.  It  was  not  long  to  the  setting  of  the  Pleiades, 
and  there  could  be  no  hope  that  the  new  army  from  the 
East  would  enter  Italy  this  year.  Belisarius  lay  on  the  other 
side  of  Hadria;  in  Italy  the  Imperial  commanders  scarce 
moved  from  the  walls  where  each  had  found  safety.  Already 
suffering  dearth  (for  Totila  now  had  ships  upon  the  Tyrrhene 
Sea,  hindering  the  corn  vessels  that  made  for  Portus),  such 
of  her  citizens  as  had  hope  elsewhere  and  could  escape, 
making  haste  to  flee,  watching  the  slow  advance  of  the 
Gothic  conqueror,  and  fearful  of  the  leaguer  which  must 
presently  begin,  Rome  waited. 

One  morning  the  attention  of  those  who  went  about  the 
streets  was  caught  by  certain  written  papers  which  had  been 
fixed  during  the  night  on  the  entrance  of  public  buildings 
and  at  other  such  conspicuous  points ;  they  bore  a  procla- 
mation of  the  King  of  the  Goths.  Reminding  the  Roman 
people  that  nearly  the  whole  of  Italy  was  now  his,  and  urging 
them  to  avoid  the  useless  sufferings  of  a  siege,  Totila  made 
promise  that,  were  the  city  surrendered  to  him,  neither  hurt 
nor  loss  should  befall  one  of  the  inhabitants;  and  that  under 
his  rule  Rome  should  have  the  same  liberty,  the  same 
honour,  as  in  the  time  of  the  glorious  Theodoric.  Before 
these  papers  had  been  torn  down,  their  purport  became 
universally  known  ;  everywhere  men  whispered  together;  but 
those  who  would  hare  welcomed  the  coming  of  Totila  could 
not  act  upon  their  wish,  and  the  Greeks  were  confident 

of  relief  long  ere  the  city  could   be  taken  by  storm  or 

aio 


320  VERANILDA 

brought  to  extremities.  Bessas  well  knew  the  numbers  of 
Totila's  army;  he  himself  commanded  a  garrison  of  three 
thousand  men,  and  not  much  larger  than  this  was  the  force 
with  which,  after  leaving  soldiers  to  maintain  his  conquest 
throughout  the  land,  the  king  now  drew  towards  Rome.  At 
the  proclamation  Bessas  laughed,  for  he  saw  in  it  a  device 
dictated  by  weakness. 

And  now,  in  these  days  of  late  autumn,  the  Gothic  army 
lay  all  but  in  sight.  Watchers  from  the  walls  pointed  east- 
ward, to  where  on  its  height,  encircled  by  the  foaming  Anio, 
stood  the  little  town  of  Tibur ;  this,  a  stronghold  overlook- 
ing the  Ager  Romanus,  Totila  had  turned  aside  to  besiege. 
The  place  must  soon  yield  to  him.  How  long  before  his 
horsemen  came  riding  along  the  Tiburtine  Way  ? 

Close  by  Tibur,  on  a  gently  rising  slope,  sheltered  by 
mountains  alike  from  northern  winds  and  from  the  unwhole- 
some breathing  of  the  south,  stood  the  vast  pleasure-house 
built  by  the  Emperor  Hadrian,  with  its  presentment  in  little 
of  the  scenes  and  architecture  which  had  most  impressed 
him  in  his  travels  throughout  the  Roman  world.  The  lapse 
of  four  hundred  years  had  restored  to  nature  his  artificial  land- 
scape :  the  Vale  of  Tempe  had  forgotten  its  name ;  Peneus 
and  Alpheus  flowed  unnoticed  through  tracts  of  wood  or 
wilderness;  but  upon  the  multitude  of  edifices,  the  dwellings, 
theatres,  hippodromes,  galleries,  lecture  halls,  no  destroyer's 
hand  had  yet  fallen.  They  abounded  in  things  beautiful,  in 
carving  and  mosaic,  in  wall-painting  and  tapestries,  in  statues 
which  had  been  the  glory  of  Greece,  and  in  marble  portrai- 
ture which  was  the  boast  of  Rome.  Here,  amid  the  decay  of 
ancient  splendour  and  the  luxuriance  of  the  triumphing 
earth,  King  Totila  made  his  momentary  abode;  with  him, 
in  Hadrian's  palace,  housed  the  Gothic  warrior-nobles,  and 
a  number  of  ladies,  their  wives  and  relatives,  who  made,  as 
it  were,  a  wandering  court.  Honour,  pride,  and  cheerful 
courage  were  the  notable  characteristics  of  these  Gothic 
women.  What  graces  they  had  they  owed  to  nature,  not  to 
any  cultivation  of  the  mind.  Their  health  suffered  in  a 


AT   HADRIAN'S  VILLA  321 

nomadic  life  from  the  ills  of  the  country,  the  dangers  of  the 
climate,  and  the  children  by  whom  a  few  were  accompanied, 
showed  a  degeneracy  of  blood  which  threatened  the  race 
with  extinction. 

Foremost  in  rank  among  them  was  Athalfrida,  sister  to  the 
king,  and  wife  of  a  brawny  lord  named  Osuin.  Though  not 
yet  five  and  twenty  years  old,  Athalfrida  had  borne  seven 
children,  of  whom  five  died  in  babyhood.  A  creature  of 
magnificent  form,  and  in  earlier  life  of  superb  vigour,  her 
paling  cheek  told  of  decline  that  had  begun;  nevertheless 
her  spirits  were  undaunted;  and  her  voice,  in  gay  talk,  in 
song  or  in  laughter,  sounded  constantly  about  the  halls  and 
wild  gardens.  Merry  by  choice,  she  had  in  her  a  vein  of 
tenderness  which  now  and  then  (possibly  due  to  failing 
health)  became  excessive,  causing  her  to  shed  abundant  tears 
with  little  or  no  cause,  and  to  be  over  lavish  of  endearments 
with  those  she  loved  or  merely  liked.  Athalfrida  worshipped 
her  husband;  in  her  brother  saw  the  ideal  hero.  She  was 
ardent  in  racial  feeling,  thought  nothing  good  but  what  was 
Gothic,  and  hated  the  Italians  for  their  lack  of  gratitude  to 
the  people  of  Theodoric. 

To  her  the  king  had  intrusted  Veranilda.  Knowing  her 
origin  and  history,  Athalfrida,  in  the  beginning,  could  not 
but  look  coldly  upon  her  charge.  The  daughter  of  a  Gothic 
renegade,  the  betrothed  of  a  Roman  noble,  and  finally  an 
apostate  from  the  creed  of  her  race — how  could  such  an  one 
expect  more  than  the  barest  civility  from  Totila's  sister? 
Yet  in  a  little  time  it  had  come  to  pass  that  Athalfrida  felt 
her  heart  soften  to  the  sad  and  beautiful  maiden,  who  never 
spoke  but  gently,  who  had  compassion  for  all  suffering,  and 
willing  aid  for  any  one  she  could  serve,  whom  little  children 
loved  as  soon  as  they  looked  into  her  eyes,  and  heard  her 
voice.  Though  a  daughter  of  the  abhorred  Ebrimut, 
Veranilda  was  of  Amal  blood,  and,  despite  what  seemed  her 
weakness  and  her  errors,  it  soon  appeared  that  she  cherished 
fervidly  the  glory  of  the  Gothic  name.  This  contradiction 
puzzled  the  wife  of  Osuin,  whose  thoughts  could  follow  only 

X 


VERAN1LDA 

the  plainest  track.  She  suspected  that  her  charge  must  be 
the  victim  of  some  enchantment,  of  some  evil  spell ;  and  in 
their  talk  she  questioned  her  with  infinite  curiosity  concern- 
ing her  acquaintance  with  Basil,  her  life  in  the  convent  at 
Praeneste,  her  release  and  the  journey  with  Marcian. 
Veranilda  spoke  as  one  who  has  nothing  to  conceal ;  only, 
when  pressed  for  the  story  of  that  last  day  at  the  island  villa, 
she  turned  away  her  face,  and  entreated  the  questioner's 
forbearance.  All  else  she  told  with  a  sad  simplicity.  Her 
religious  conversion  was  the  result  of  teaching  she  had 
received  from  the  abbess,  a  Roman  lady  of  great  learning, 
who  spoke  of  things  till  then  unknown  to  her,  and  made  so 
manifest  the  truth  of  the  Catholic  creed  that  her  reason  was 
constrained  to  accept  it.  Obeying  the  king's  command, 
Athalfrida  refrained  from  argument  and  condemnation,  and, 
as  Veranilda  herself,  when  once  she  had  told  her  story,  never 
again  returned  to  it,  the  subject  was  almost  forgotten.  They 
lived  together  on  terms  as  friendly  as  might  be  between 
persons  so  different.  The  other  ladies,  their  curiosity  once 
satisfied,  scarce  paid  any  heed  to  her  at  all ;  and  Veranilda 
was  never  more  content  than  when  left  quite  alone,  to  ply 
her  needle  and  commune  with  her  thoughts. 

Against  all  expectation,  the  gates  of  Tibur  remained  obstin- 
ately closed ;  three  weeks  went  by,  and  those  who  came 
on  to  the  walls  to  parley  had  only  words  of  scorn  for  the 
Gothic  king,  whom  they  bade  beware  of  the  Greek  force 
which  would  shortly  march  to  their  succour.  Only  a  small 
guard  of  Isaurians  held  the  town,  but  it  was  abundantly  pro- 
visioned, and  strong  enough  to  defy  attack  for  an  indefinite 
time.  The  Goths  had  no  skill  in  taking  fortresses  by  assault  ; 
when  walls  held  firm  against  them,  they  seldom  overcame 
except  by  blockade ;  and  this  it  was  which,  despite  his  con- 
quest of  the  greater  part  of  Italy,  made  Totila  thus  slow  and 
cautious  in  his  approach  to  Rome.  He  remembered  that 
Vitiges,  who  laid  siege  to  the  city  with  a  hundred  thousand 
men,  had  retreated  at  last  with  his  troops  diminished  by  more 
than  half,  so  worn  and  dispirited  that  they  scarce  struck 


AT   HADRIAN'S  VILLA  323 

another  blow  against  Belisarius.  The  Greek  commander, 
Totila  well  knew,  would  not  sally  forth  and  risk  an  engage- 
ment :  to  storm  the  battlements  would  be  an  idle,  if  not  a 
fatal,  attempt ;  and  how,  with  so  small  an  army,  could  he 
encompass  so  vast  a  wall?  To  guard  the  entrance  to  the 
river  with  his  ships,  and  to  isolate  Rome  from  every  inland 
district  of  Italy,  seemed  to  the  Gothic  king  the  only  sure 
way  of  preparing  his  final  triumph.  But  time  pressed ;  how- 
ever beset  with  difficulties,  Belisarius  would  not  linger  for 
ever  beyond  Hadria.  The  resistance  of  Tibur  excited  Totila's 
impatience,  and  at  length  stirred  his  wrath.  Osuin  heard  a 
terrible  threat  fall  from  his  lips,  and  the  same  evening 
whispered  it  to  Athalfrida. 

'He  will  do  well,'  answered  his  wife,  with  brows 
knit. 

On  the  morrow,  Athalfrida  and  Veranilda  sat  together  in 
the  gardens,  or  what  once  had  been  the  gardens,  of  Hadrian's 
palace,  and  looked  forth  over  the  vast  brown  landscape,  with 
that  gleam  upon  its  limit,  that  something  pale  between  earth 
and  air,  which  was  the  Tyrrhene  Sea.  Over  the  sky  hung 
thin  grey  clouds,  broken  with  strips  of  hazy  blue,  and  softly 
suffused  with  warmth  from  the  invisible  sun. 

'  O  that  this  weary  war  would  end ! '  exclaimed  the  elder 
lady  in  the  language  of  the  Goths.  '  I  am  sick  of  wandering, 
sick  of  this  south,  where  winter  is  the  same  as  summer,  sick 
of  the  name  of  Rome.  I  would  I  were  back  in  Mediolanum. 
There,  when  you  look  from  the  walls,  you  see  the  great  white 
mountains,  and  a  wind  blows  from  them,  cold,  keen  ;  a  wind 
that  sets  you  running  and  leaping,  and  makes  you  hungry. 
Here  I  have  no  gust  for  food,  and  indeed  there  is  none 
worth  eating.' 

As  she  spoke,  she  raised  her  hand  to  the  branch  of  an 
arbutus  just  above  her  head,  plucked  one  of  the  strawberry- 
like  fruits,  bit  into  it  with  her  white  teeth,  and  threw  the  half 
away  contemptuously. 

'  You ! '  She  turned  to  her  companion  abruptly.  c  Where 
would  you  like  to  live  when  the  war  is  over  ? ' 


324  VERANILDA 

Veranilda's  eyes  rested  upon  something  in  the  far  distance, 
but  less  far  than  the  shining  horizon. 

'  Surely  not  there  \ '  pursued  the  other,  watching  her.  '  I 
was  but  once  in  Rome,  and  I  had  not  been  there  a  week 
when  I  fell  sick  of  fever.  King  Theodoric  knew  better  than 
to  make  his  dwelling  at  Rome,  and  Totila  will  never  live 
there.  The  houses  are  so  big  and  so  close  together  they 
scarce  leave  air  to  breathe ;  so  old,  too,  they  look  as  if  they 
would  tumble  upon  your  head.  I  have  small  liking  for 
Ravenna,  where  there  is  hardly  dry  land  to  walk  upon,  and 
you  can't  sleep  for  the  frogs.  Verona  is  better.  But,  best 
of  all,  Mediolanum.  There,  if  he  will  listen  to  me,  my 
brother  shall  have  his  palace  and  his  court — as  they  say  some 
of  the  emperors  did,  I  know  not  how  long  ago.' 

Still  gazing  at  the  far  distance,  Veranilda  murmured  : 

'  I  never  saw  the  city  nearer  than  this/ 

'  I  would  no  one  might  ever  look  upon  it  again ! '  cried 
Athalfrida,  her  blue  eyes  dark  with  anger  and  her  cheeks  hot. 
'  I  would  that  the  pestilence,  which  haunts  its  streets,  might 
make  it  desolate,  and  that  the  muddy  river,  which  ever  and 
again  turns  it  into  a  swamp,  would  hide  its  highest  palace 
under  an  eternal  flood.' 

Veranilda  averted  her  face  and  kept  silence.  Thereupon 
the  other  seemed  to  repent  of  having  spoken  so  vehemently. 

'Well,  that's  how  I  feel  sometimes,'  she  said,  in  a  voice 
suddenly  gentle.  '  But  I  forgot — or  I  wouldn't  have  said  it.' 

'I  well  understand,  dear  lady,'  replied  her  companion. 
1  Rome  has  never  been  loyal  to  the  Goths.  And  yet  some 
Romans  have.' 

1  How  many  ?  To  be  sure,  you  know  one,  and  in  your 
thought  he  stands  for  a  multitude.  Come,  you  must  not  be 
angry  with  me,  child.  Nay,  vexed,  then.  Nay  then,  hurt 
and  sad.  I  am  not  myself  to-day.  I  dreamt  last  night  of 
the  snowy  mountains,  and  this  warmth  oppresses  me.  In 
truth,  I  often  fear  I  shall  fall  sick.  Feel  my  hand,  how  hot 
it  is.  Where  are  the  children  ?  Let  us  walk.' 

Not  far  away  she  discovered  three  little  boys,  two  of  them 


AT   HADRIAN'S  VILLA  325 

her  own,  who  were  playing  at  battles  and  sieges  upon  stairs 
which  descended  from  this  terrace  to  the  hippodrome  below. 
After  watching  them  awhile,  with  laughter  and  applause, 
she  threw  an  arm  round  Veranilda's  waist,  and  drew  her  on 
to  a  curved  portico  where,  in  a  niche,  stood  a  statue  of 
Antinous. 

'  Is  that  one  of  their  gods,  or  an  emperor  ? '  asked  Athal- 
frida.  '  I  have  seen  his  face  again  and  again  since  we  came 
here.' 

'  Indeed,  I  know  not,'  answered  her  companion.  *  But 
surely  he  is  too  beautiful  for  a  man.' 

1  Beautiful  ?  Never  say  that,  child ;  for  if  it  be  as  you 
think,  it  is  the  beauty  of  a  devil,  and  has  led  who  knows  how 
many  into  the  eternal  fire.  Had  I  a  hammer  here,  I  would 
splinter  the  evil  face.  I  would  not  have  my  boys  look  at  it 
and  think  it  beautiful.' 

A  heavy  footstep  sounded  on  the  terrace.  Turning,  they 
saw  Osuin,  an  armed  giant,  with  flowing  locks,  and  thick, 
tawny  beard. 

'  Wife,  a  word  with  you,'  he  shouted,  beckoning  from  some 
twenty  paces  away. 

They  talked  together ;  then  the  lady  returned,  a  troubled 
smile  on  her  face,  and  said  softly  to  Veranilda  : 

'Some  one  wishes  to  speak  with  you — some  one  who 
comes  with  the  king's  good-will.' 

Veranilda  looked  towards  Osuin. 

'  You  cannot  mean ? '  she  faltered. 

'  No  other,'  replied  Athalfrida,  nodding  gaily.  '  Are  you 
at  leisure  ?  Some  other  day,  perhaps  ?  I  will  say  you  would 
be  private — that  you  cannot  now  give  audience.' 

This  pleasantry  brought  only  the  faintest  smile  to  the 
listener's  face. 

'  Is  it  hither  that  he  would  come  ? '  she  asked,  again  look- 
ing anxiously  towards  the  ruddy  giant,  who  stamped  with 
a  beginning  of  impatience. 

'  If  so  it  please  you,  little  one,'  answered  Athalfrida,  chang- 
ing all  at  once  to  her  softest  mood.  '  The  king  leaves  all  to 


326  VERANILDA 

my  discretion,  and  I  ask  nothing  better  than  to  do  you 
kindness.  Shall  it  be  here,  or  within  ? ' 

Veranilda  whispered  '  Here ' ;  whereupon  Osuin  received 
a  sign,  and  stalked  off.  A  few  minutes  passed,  and  Athal- 
frida,  who,  after  caresses  and  tender  words,  had  drawn  apart, 
as  if  to  watch  her  children  playing,  beheld  the  expected 
visitor.  Her  curiosity  was  not  indiscreet ;  she  would  have 
glimpsed  the  graceful  figure,  the  comely  visage,  and  then 
have  turned  away  j  but  at  this  moment  the  new  comer  paused, 
looked  about  him  in  hesitation,  and  at  length  advanced  to- 
wards her.  She  had  every  excuse  for  looking  him  straight  in 
the  face,  and  it  needed  not  the  pleasant  note  of  his  speech  to 
dispose  her  kindly  towards  him. 

'  Gracious  lady,  I  seek  the  lady  Veranilda,  and  was  bidden 
come  hither  along  the  terrace.' 

Totila's  sister  had  but  little  of  the  Latin  tongue ;  now,  for 
perhaps  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  regretted  this  deficiency. 
Smiling,  she  pointed  to  a  group  of  cypresses  which  hid  part 
of  the  portico,  and  her  questioner,  with  a  courtly  bow,  went 
on.  He  wore  the  ordinary  dress  of  a  Roman  noble,  and  had 
not  even  a  dagger  at  his  waist.  As  soon  as  he  had  passed 
the  cypresses,  he  saw,  within  the  shadow  of  the  portico,  the 
figure  his  eyes  had  sought ;  then  he  stood  still,  and  spoke 
with  manly  submissiveness. 

'  It  is  much  that  you  suffer  me  to  come  into  your  presence, 
for  of  all  men,  O  Veranilda,  I  am  least  worthy  to  do  so.' 

'  How  shall  I  answer  you  ? '  she  replied,  with  a  sad,  simple 
dignity.  '  I  know  not  of  what  unworthiness  you  accuse 
yourself.  That  you  are  most  unhappy,  I  know  too  well.' 

She  dared  not  raise  her  eyes  to  him ;  but  in  the  moment 
of  his  appearance  before  her,  it  had  gladdened  her  to  see 
him  attired  as  when  she  first  knew  him.  Had  he  worn  the 
soldierly  garb  in  which  he  presented  himself  at  Marcian's 
villa,  the  revival  of  a  dread  memory  would  have  pierced  her 
heart.  Even  as  in  outward  man  he  was  the  Basil  she  had 
loved,  so  did  his  voice  recall  that  brighter  day. 

1  Unhappy  most  of  all,'  he  continued,  c  in  what  I  least  dare 


AT   HADRIAN'S  VILLA  327 

speak  of.  I  have  no  ground  to  plead  for  pardon.  What  I 
did,  and  still  more  what  I  uttered,  judge  it  at  the  worst.  I 
should  but  add  to  my  baseness  if  I  urged  excuses.' 

'  Let  us  not  remember  that,  I  entreat  you,'  said  Veranilda. 
1  But  tell  me,  if  you  will,  what  has  befallen  you  since  ?' 

'  You  know  nothing  of  me  since  then  ? ' 

1  Nothing.' 

'  And  I  nothing  of  you,  save  that  you  were  with  the  Gothic 
army,  and  honourably  entertained.  The  king  himself  spoke 
to  me  of  you,  when,  after  long  sickness,  I  came  to  his  camp. 
He  asked  if  it  was  my  wish  to  see  you ;  but  I  could  not  yet 
dare  to  stand  before  your  face,  and  so  I  answered  him.  "  It 
is  well,"  said  Totila.  "  Prove  yourself  in  some  service  to  the 
Goths  and  to  your  country,  then  I  will  speak  with  you  again." 
And  straightway  he  charged  me  with  a  duty  which  I  the 
more  gladly  undertook  because  it  had  some  taste  of  danger. 
He  bade  me  enter  Rome,  and  spread  through  the  city  a 
proclamation  to  the  Roman  people ' 

1  It  was  you  who  did  that  ? '  interrupted  the  listener.  'We 
heard  of  its  being  done,  but  not  by  what  hand.' 

1  With  a  servant  whom  I  can  trust,  disguised,  he  and  I,  as 
peasants  bringing  food  to  market,  I  entered  Rome,  and 
remained  for  two  days  within  the  gates ;  then  returned  to 
Totila.  He  next  sent  me  to  learn  the  strength  of  the  Greek 
garrisons  in  Spoletium  and  Assisium,  and  how  those  cities 
were  provisioned ;  this  task  also,  by  good  hap,  I  discharged 
so  as  to  win  some  praise.  Then  the  king  again  spoke  to  me 
of  you.  And  as,  before,  I  had  not  dared  to  approach  you,  so 
now  I  did  not  dare  to  wait  longer  before  making  known  to 
you  my  shame  and  my  repentance.' 

'Of  what  sickness  did  you  speak  just  now?'  asked 
Veranildr,,  after  a  silence. 

He  narrated  to  her  his  sojourn  at  the  monastery,  told  of 
the  penance  he  had  done,  of  the  absolution  granted  him  by 
Benedict ;  whereupon  a  light  came  into  Veranilda's  eyes. 

'There  lives,'  she  exclaimed,  ' no  holier  man ! ' 

'  None  holier  lived,'  was  Basil's  grave  answer.     '  Returning 


328  VERANILDA 

from  Assisium,  I  met  a  wandering  anchorite,  who  told  me  of 
Benedict's  death.' 

'Alas!' 

'But  is  he  reverenced  by  those  of  your  creed?'  asked  Basil 
in  surprise. 

'  Of  my  creed?    My  faith  is  that  of  the  Catholic  Church.' 

For  the  first  time  their  eyes  met.  Basil  drew  a  step 
nearer;  his  face  shone  with  joy,  which  for  a  moment  held 
him  mute. 

'It  was  in  the  convent,'  added  Veranilda,  'that  I  learnt 
the  truth.  They  whom  I  called  my  enemies  wrought  this 
good  to  me.' 

Basil  besought  her  to  tell  him  how  she  had  been  carried 
away  from  Surrentum,  and  all  that  had  befallen  her  whilst  she 
was  a  prisoner;  he  declared  his  ignorance  of  everything 
between  their  last  meeting  in  the  Anician  villa  and  the  dread- 
ful day  which  next  brought  them  face  to  face.  As  he  said 
this,  it  seemed  to  him  that  Veranilda's  countenance  betrayed 
surprise. 

'  I  forget,'  he  added,  his  head  again  falling,  '  that  your 
mind  has  been  filled  with  doubt  of  me.  How  can  I  con- 
vince you  that  I  speak  truly  ?  O  Veranilda ! '  he  exclaimed 
passionately,  'can  you  look  at  me,  can  you  hear  me  speak, 
and  still  believe  that  I  was  ever  capable  of  betraying  you  ? ' 

'That  I  never  believed,'  she  answered  in  a  subdued  voice. 

'  Yet  I  saw  in  your  eyes  some  doubt,  some  hesitation.' 

'  Then  it  was  despite  myself.  The  thought  that  you  planned 
evil  against  me  I  have  ever  cast  out  and  abhorred.  Why  it 
was  said  of  you,  alas,  I  know  not.' 

'  What  proof  was  given  ? '  asked  Basil,  gazing  fixedly  at  her. 

'  None.' 

Her  accent  did  not  satisfy  him ;  it  seemed  to  falter. 

'Was  nothing  said,' he  urged,  'to  make  credible  so  black 
an  untruth?' 

Veranilda  stood  motionless  and  silent. 

'Speak,  I  beseech  you!'  cried  Basil,  his  hands  clasped 
upon  his  breast.  'Something  there  is  which  shadows  your 


AT   HADRIAN'S  VILLA  329 

faith  in  my  sincerity..  God  knows,  I  have  no  right  to  question 
you  thus — I,  who  let  my  heart  be  poisoned  against  you  by  a 
breath,  a  nothing.  Rebuke  me  as  you  will ;  call  me  by  the 
name  I  merit ;  utter  all  the  disdain  you  must  needs  feel  for 
a  man  so  weak  and  false ' 

His  speech  was  checked  upon  that  word.  Veranilda  had 
arrested  him  with  a  sudden  look,  a  look  of  pain,  of  fear. 

'  False  ? '  fell  from  her  lips. 

1  Can  you  forget  it,  O  Veranilda  ?    Would  that  I  could ! ' 

'In  your  anger,'  she  said,  'as  when  perchance  you  were 
already  distraught  with  fever,  you  spoke  I  know  not  what. 
Therein  you  were  not  false  to  me.' 

'False  to  myself,  I  should  have  said.  To  you,  never, 
never!  False  to  my  faith  in  you,  false  to  my  own  heart 
which  knew  you  faithful;  but  false  as  men  are  called 
who ' 

Again  his  voice  sank.  A  memory  flashed  across  him, 
troubling  his  brow. 

'  What  else  were  you  told  ? '  he  asked  abruptly.  '  Can  it 
be  a  woman's  name  was  spoken  ?  You  are  silent.  Will  you 
not  say  that  this  thought,  also,  you  abhorred  and  rejected?' 

The  simple  honesty  of  Veranilda's  nature  would  not  allow 
her  to  disguise  what  she  thought.  Urging  question  after 
question,  with  ardour  irresistible,  Basil  learnt  all  she  had 
been  told  by  Marcian  concerning  Heliodora,  and,  having 
learnt  it,  confessed  the  whole  truth  in  utter  frankness,  in  the 
plain,  blunt  words  dictated  by  his  loathing  of  the  Greek  woman 
with  whom  he  had  once  played  at  love.  And,  as  she  listened, 
Veranilda's  heart  grew  light ;  for  the  time  before  her  meeting 
with  Basil  seemed  very  far  away,  and  the  tremulous  passion 
in  his  voice  assured  her  of  all  she  cared  to  know,  that  his 
troth  pledged  to  her  had  never  suffered  wrong.  Basil  spoke  on 
and  on,  told  of  his  misery  in  Rome  whilst  vainly  seeking  her; 
how  he  was  baffled  and  misled ;  how  at  length,  in  despair,  he 
left  the  city  and  went  to  his  estate  by  Asculum.  Then  of  the 
message  received  from  Marcian,  and  how  eagerly  he  set  forth 
to  cross  the  Apennines,  resolved  that,  if  he  could  not  find 


330  VERANILDA 

Veranilda,  at  least  he  would  join  himself  with  her  people  and 
fight  for  their  king;  of  his  encounter  with  the  marauding 
troop,  his  arrival,  worn  and  fevered,  at  Aesernia,  his  meeting 
with  Sagaris,  their  interview,  and  what  followed  upon  it. 

'  To  this  hour  I  know  not  whether  the  man  told  me  what 
he  believed,  or  coldly  lied  to  me.  He  has  the  face  of  a  villain 
and  may  well  have  behaved  as  one — who  knows  with  what 
end  in  view?  Could  I  but  lay  hands  upon  him,  I  would 
have  the  truth  out  of  his  tongue  by  torture.  He  is  in  Rome. 
I  saw  him  come  forth  from  Marcian's  house,  when  I  was 
there  on  the  lung's  service ',  but,  of  course,  I  could  not  speak 
with  him.' 

Veranilda  had  seated  herself  within  the  portico.  Basil 
stood  before  her,  ever  and  again  meeting  her  eyes  as  she 
looked  up. 

'  Just  as  little,'  he  resumed  after  a  pause  of  troubled  thought, 
'  can  I  know  whether  Marcian  believed  me  a  traitor,  or  himself 
had  a  traitorous  mind.  The  more  I  think,  the  less  do  I 
understand  him.  I  hope,  I  hope  with  all  my  heart,  that  he 
was  innocent,  and  daily  I  pray  for  his  eternal  welfare.' 

'  That  is  well  done,  O  Basil,'  said  the  listener,  for  the  first 
time  uttering  his  name.  'My  prayers,  too,  he  shall  have. 
That  he  was  so  willing  to  credit  ill  of  you,  I  marvel ;  and 
therein  he  proved  himself  no  staunch  friend.  But  of  all  else, 
he  was  guiltless.' 

'  So  shall  he  ever  live  in  my  memory,'  said  Basil.  { Of  him 
I  always  found  it  easier  to  believe  good  than  evil,  for  many 
were  the  proofs  he  had  given  me  of  his  affection.  Had  it 
been  otherwise,  I  should  long  before  have  doubted  him ;  for, 
when  I  was  seeking  you  in  Rome,  more  than  once  did  a  finger 
point  to  Marcian,  as  to  one  who  knew  more  than  he  would 
say.  I  heard  the  accusation  with  scorn,  knowing  well  that 
they  who  breathed  it  desired  to  confound  me.' 

This  turned  his  thoughts  again  to  the  beginning  of  their 
sorrows;  and  again  he  gently  asked  of  Veranilda  that  she 
would  relate  that  part  of  her  story  which  remained  un- 
known to  him.  She,  no  longer  saddened  by  the  past,  looked 


AT   HADRIAN'S  VILLA  331 

frankly  up  into  his  face,  and  smiled  as  she  began.  Now  first 
did  Basil  hear  of  the  anchoret  Sisinnius,  and  how  Aurelia 
was  beguiled  into  the  wood,  where  capture  awaited  her.  Of 
the  embarkment  at  Surrentum,  Veranilda  had  only  a  confused 
recollection :  fear  and  distress  re-awoke  in  her  as  she  tried  to 
describe  the  setting  forth  to  sea,  and  the  voyage  that  followed. 
Sisinnius  and  his  monkish  follower  were  in  the  ship,  but  held 
no  speech  with  their  captives.  After  a  day  or  two  of  sailing, 
they  landed  at  nightfall,  but  in  what  place  she  had  never 
learnt.  Still  conducted  by  the  anchorets,  they  were  taken 
to  pass  the  night  in  a  large  house,  where  they  had  good 
entertainment,  but  saw  only  the  female  slaves  who  waited 
upon  them.  The  next  day  began  a  journey  by  road;  and 
thus,  after  more  than  one  weary  day,  they  arrived  at  the 
house  of  religious  women  which  was  to  be  Veranilda's  home 
for  nearly  a  twelvemonth. 

'  I  knew  not  where  I  was,  and  no  one  would  answer  me 
that  question,  though  otherwise  I  had  gentle  and  kindly 
usage.  Aurelia  I  saw  no  more ;  we  had  not  even  taken  leave 
of  each  other,  for  we  did  not  dream  on  entering  the  house 
that  we  were  to  be  parted.  Whether  she  remained  under 
that  roof  I  never  learnt.  During  our  journey,  she  suffered 
much,  often  weeping  bitterly,  often  all  but  distraught  with 
anger  and  despair.  Before  leaving  the  ship  we  were  told 
that,  if  either  of  us  tried  to  escape,  we  should  be  fettered, 
and  only  the  fear  of  that  indignity  kept  Aurelia  still.  Her 
face,  as  I  remember  its  last  look,  was  dreadful,  so  white  and 
anguished.  I  have  often  feared  that,  if  she  were  long  kept 
prisoner,  she  would  lose  her  senses.' 

Basil  having  heard  the  story  to  an  end  without  speaking, 
made  known  the  thoughts  it  stirred  in  him.  They  talked 
of  Petronilla  and  of  the  deacon  Leander,  and  sought  explana- 
tions of  Veranilda's  release.  And,  as  thus  they  conversed, 
they  forgot  all  that  had  come  between  them ;  their  constraint 
insensibly  passed  away;  till  at  length  Basil  was  sitting  by 
Veranilda's  side,  and  holding  her  hand,  and  their  eyes  met  in 
a  long  gaze  of  love  and  trust  and  hope. 


332  VERANILDA 

'Can  you  forgive?'  murmured  Basil,  upon  whom,  in  the 
fulness  of  his  joy,  came  the  memory  of  what  he  deemed  his 
least  pardonable  sin. 

1  How  can  I  talk  of  forgiveness,'  she  returned,  '  when  not 
yours  was  the  blame,  but  mine  ?  For  I  believed — or  all  but 
believed — that  you  had  forgotten  me.' 

'  Beloved,  I  was  guilty  of  worse  than  faithlessness.  I  dread 
to  think,  and  still  more  to  speak,  of  it ;  yet  if  I  am  silent, 
I  spare  myself,  and  seem,  perhaps,  to  make  light  of  baseness 
for  which  there  are  no  words  of  fitting  scorn.  That  too,  be 
assured,  O  Veranilda,  I  confessed  to  the  holy  Benedict.' 

Her  bowed  head  and  flushing  cheek  told  him  that  she 
understood. 

'  Basil,'  she  whispered,  '  it  was  not  you,  not  you.' 

'  Gladly  would  I  give  myself  that  comfort.  When  I  think, 
indeed,  that  this  hand  was  raised  to  take  my  friend's  life, 
I  shake  with  horror  and  say,  "Not  /did  that!"  Even  so 
would  I  refuse  to  charge  my  very  self  with  those  words  that 
my  lips  uttered.  But  to  you  they  were  spoken ;  you  heard 
them ;  you  fled  before  them ' 

'  Basil !     Basil ! ' 

She  had  hidden  her  face  with  her  hands.  Basil  threw 
himself  upon  his  knees  beside  her. 

'  Though  I  spoke  in  madness,  can  you  ever  forget  ?  God 
Himself,  I  know,  will  sooner  blot  out  my  sin  of  murder  than 
this  wound  I  inflicted  upon  your  pure  and  gentle  heart ! ' 

Veranilda  caught  his  hand  and  pressed  her  lips  upon  it, 
whilst  her  tears  fell  softly. 

1  Listen,  dearest  Basil,'  she  said.  '  To  think  that  I  guard 
this  in  my  memory  against  you  would  be  to  do  me  wrong. 
Remember  how  first  I  spoke  to  you  about  it,  when  we  first 
knew  that  we  loved  each  other.  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  this 
was  a  thing  which  could  never  be  quite  forgotten?  Did  I 
not  know  that,  if  ever  I  sinned,  or  seemed  to  sin,  this  would 
be  the  first  rebuke  upon  the  lips  of  those  I  angered? 
Believing  me  faithless — nay,  not  you,  beloved,  but  your 
fevered  brain — how  could  you  but  think  that  thought?  And, 


AT   HADRIAN'S  VILLA  333 

even  had  you  not  spoken  it,  must  I  not  have  read  it  in  your 
face?  Never  ask  me  to  forgive  what  you  could  not  help. 
Rather,  O  Basil,  will  I  entreat  you,  even  as  I  did  before, 
to  bear  with  the  shame  inseparable  from  my  being.  If  it 
lessen  not  your  love,  have  I  not  cause  enough  for  thank- 
fulness ? ' 

Hearing  such  words  as  these,  in  the  sweetest,  tenderest 
voice  that  ever  caressed  a  lover's  senses,  Basil  knew  not  how 
to  word  all  that  was  in  his  heart.  Passion  spoke  for  him, 
and  not  in  vain ;  for  in  a  few  moments  Veranilda's  tears  were 
dry,  or  lingered  only  to  glisten  amid  the  happy  light  which 
beamed  from  her  eyes.  Side  by  side,  forgetful  of  all  but 
their  recovered  peace,  they  talked  sweet  nothings,  until 
there  sounded  from  far  a  woman's  voice,  calling  the  name  of 
Veranilda. 

'That  is  Athalfrida,'  she  said,  starting  up.  'I  must  not 
delay.' 

One  whisper,  one  kiss,  and  she  was  gone.  When  Basil, 
after  brief  despondency  came  forth  on  to  the  open  terrace, 
he  saw  her  at  a  distance,  standing  with  Athalfrida  and  Osuin. 
Their  looks  invited  him  to  approach,  and,  when  he  was  near, 
Veranilda  stepped  towards  him. 

1  It  will  not  be  long,'  she  said  calmly,  '  before  we  again 
meet.  The  lord  Osuin  promises,  and  he  speaks  for  the 
king.' 

Basil  bowed  in  silence.  The  great-limbed  warrior  and  his 
fair  wife  had  their  eyes  upon  him,  and  were  smiling  good- 
naturedly.  Then  Osuin  spoke  in  thick-throated  Latin. 

'  Shall  we  be  gone,  lord  Basil  ? ' 

From  the  end  of  the  terrace,  Basil  looked  back.  Athalfrida 
stood  with  her  arm  about  the  maiden's  waist;  both  gazed 
towards  him,  and  Veranilda  waved  her  hand. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

ROME  BELEAGUERED 

A  FEW  days  later  the  guards  at  the  Tiburtine  Gate  of  Rome 
were  hailed,  before  dawn,  by  a  number  of  Greek  soldiers  in  the 
disarray  of  flight.  It  was  a  portion  of  the  garrison  of  Tibur : 
the  town  had  been  betrayed  at  sunset,  by  certain  of  its  in- 
habitants who  watched  at  one  of  the  gates.  The  soldiers  fought 
their  way  through  and  most  of  them  escaped,  and  had  fled 
hither  through  the  darkness.  Before  the  end  of  the  day  came 
news  more  terrible.  A  peasant  from  a  neighbouring  farm 
declared  that  all  the  people  of  Tibur,  men,  women,  and 
children,  had  perished  under  the  Gothic  sword,  not  even 
ministers  of  religion  having  found  mercy.  And  very  soon  this 
report,  at  first  doubted,  was  fully  confirmed.  The  event 
excited  no  less  astonishment  than  horror,  contrasting  as  it  did 
with  Totila's  humanity  throughout  the  war.  Some  offered  as 
explanation  the  fact  that  many  Goths  lived  at  Tibur,  whose 
indifference  or  hostility  had  angered  the  king ;  others  sur- 
mised that  this  was  Totila's  warning  after  the  failure  of  his 
proclamation  to  the  Romans.  Whatever  the  meaning  of  such 
unwonted  severity,  its  effect  upon  the  Romans  was  unfavour- 
able to  the  Gothic  cause.  Just  about  this  time  there  hap- 
pened to  arrive  two  captains,  sent  by  Belisarius  with  a  small 
troop  for  the  reinforcement  of  Bessas.  The  addition  to  the 
strength  of  the  garrison  was  inconsiderable,  but  it  served  to 
put  the  city  in  heart  once  more.  The  Patricius  himself  would 
not  be  long  in  coming,  and  when  did  the  name  of  Belisarius 
sound  anything  but  victory  ? 
This  confidence  increased  when  Totila,  instead  of  march- 

8M 


ROME  BELEAGUERED  335 

ing  upon  Rome,  as  all  had  expected,  turned  in  the  opposite 
direction,  and  led  his  forces  across  the  Apennines.  The  gates 
were  thrown  open ;  the  citizens  resumed  their  ordinary  life, 
saying  to  each  other  that  all  fear  of  a  siege  was  at  an  end ; 
and  when  certain  ships  from  Sicily,  having  by  good  luck  es- 
caped the  Gothic  galleys,  landed  a  good  supply  of  corn,  there 
was  great  exultation.  True,  only  a  scanty  measure  of  this 
food  reached  the  populace,  and  that  chiefly  by  the  good  offices 
of  the  archdeacon  Pelagius,  now  become  as  dear  to  the  people 
as  Pope  Vigilius  was  hateful;  the  granaries  were  held  by 
Bessas,  who  first  of  all  fed  his  soldiers,  and  then  sold  at  a 
great  price.  As  winter  went  on,  the  Romans  suffered  much. 
And  with  the  spring  came  disquieting  news  of  Totila's  suc- 
cesses northwards  :  the  towns  of  Picenum  had  yielded  to  him ; 
he  was  moving  once  more  in  this  direction;  he  captured 
Spoletium,  Assisium,  and  still  came  on. 

Belisarius,  meanwhile,  had  crossed  to  Italy,  and  was  en- 
camped at  Ravenna.  Why,  asked  the  Romans,  impatiently, 
anxiously,  did  he  not  march  to  meet  the  Gothic  king  ?  But 
the  better  informed  knew  that  his  army  was  miserably  in- 
sufficient ;  they  heard  of  his  ceaseless  appeals  to  Byzantium, 
of  his  all  but  despair  in  finding  himself  without  money,  with- 
out men,  in  the  land  which  but  a  few  years  ago  had  seen  his 
glory.  Would  the  Emperor  take  no  thought  for  Italy,  for 
Rome?  Bessas,  with  granaries  well  stored,  and  his  palace 
heaped  with  Roman  riches,  shrugged  when  the  nobles  spoke 
disrespectfully  of  Justinian  ;  his  only  loyalty  was  to  himself. 

At  high  summertide,  the  Gothic  camp  was  pitched  before 
Rome,  and  the  siege  anticipated  for  so  many  months  had  at 
length  begun.  For  whatever  reason,  Totila  had  never  attempted 
to  possess  himself  of  Portus,  which  guarded  the  mouth  of  the 
river  Tiber  on  the  north  bank  and  alone  made  possible  the  pro- 
visioning of  the  city.  Fearing  that  this  stronghold  would  now 
be  attacked,  Bessas  despatched  a  body  of  soldiers  to  strengthen 
its  garrison ;  but  they  fell  into  a  Gothic  ambush,  and  were  cut 
to  pieces.  Opposite  Portus,  and  separated  from  it  by  a  desert 
island,  on  either  side  of  which  Tiber  flowed  to  the  sea,  lay  the 


336  VERANILDA 

ancient  town  of  Ostia,  once  the  port  of  the  world's  traffic,  now 
ruinous  and  scarce  inhabited.  Here  Totila  established  an 
outpost ;  but  he  did  not  otherwise  threaten  the  harbour  on  the 
other  side.  His  purpose  evidently  was  to  avoid  all  conflict 
which  would  risk  a  reduction  of  the  Gothic  army,  and  by 
patient  blockade  to  starve  the  Romans  into  surrender. 

He  could  not  surround  the  city,  with  its  circuit  of  twelve 
miles ;  he  could  not  keep  ceaseless  watch  upon  the  sixteen 
gates  and  the  numerous  posterns.  King  Vitiges,  in  his 
attempt  to  do  so,  had  suffered  terrible  losses.  It  was  inevit- 
able that  folk  should  pass  in  and  out  of  Rome.  But  from 
inland  no  supplies  could  be  expected  by  the  besieged,  and 
any  ship  sailing  up  to  Portus  would  have  little  chance  of  land- 
ing its  cargo  safely.  Before  long,  indeed,  this  was  put  to 
proof.  The  Pope,  whose  indecision  still  kept  him  lingering 
in  Sicily,  nearly  a  twelvemonth  after  his  departure  from  Rome 
for  Constantinople,  freighted  a  vessel  with  corn  for  the  re- 
lief of  the  city,  and  its  voyage  was  uninterrupted  as  far  as  the 
Tiber's  mouth.  There  it  became  an  object  of  interest,  not 
only  to  the  Greeks  on  the  walls  of  Portus,  but  to  the  Gothic 
soldiers  at  Ostia,  who  forthwith  crossed  in  little  boats,  and  lay 
awaiting  the  ship  at  the  entrance  to  the  haven.  Observant  of 
this  stratagem,  the  garrison,  by  all  manner  of  signalling,  tried 
to  warn  the  sailors  of  the  danger  awaiting  them ;  but  their 
signals  were  misunderstood,  being  taken  for  gestures  of  eager 
welcome  ;  and  the  ship  came  on.  With  that  lack  of  courage 
which  characterised  them,  the  Greeks  did  nothing  more  than 
wave  arms  and  shout :  under  their  very  eyes,  the  corn-ship 
was  boarded  by  the  Goths,  and  taken  into  Ostia. 

Of  courage,  indeed,  as  of  all  other  soldierly  virtues,  little 
enough  was  exhibited,  at  this  stage  of  the  war,  on  either  side. 
The  Imperial  troops  scattered  about  Italy,  ill-paid,  and  often 
starving  mercenaries  from  a  score  of  Oriental  countries,  saw 
no  one  ready  to  lead  them  to  battle,  and  the  one  Byzantine 
general  capable  of  commanding  called  vainly  for  an  army. 
Wearied  by  marchings  and  counter-marchings,  the  Gothic 
warriors  were  more  disposed  to  rest  awhile  after  their  easy  con- 


ROME   BELEAGUERED  337 

quests  than  to  make  a  vigorous  effort  for  the  capture  of  Rome. 
Totila  himself,  heroic  redeemer  of  his  nation,  turned  anxious 
glances  towards  Ravenna,  hoping,  rather  than  resolving,  to 
hold  his  state  upon  the  Palatine  before  Belisarius  could 
advance  against  him.  He  felt  the  fatigue  of  those  about  him, 
and  it  was  doubtless  under  the  stress  of  such  a  situation, 
bearing  himself  the  whole  burden  of  the  war,  that  he  had 
ordered,  or  permitted,  barbarous  revenge  upon  the  city  of 
Tibur.  For  this  reason  he  would  not,  even  now,  centre  all 
his  attention  upon  the  great  siege ;  he  knew  what  a  long, 
dispiriting  business  it  was  likely  to  be,  and  feared  to  fall  into 
that  comparative  idleness.  Soon  after  the  incident  of  the 
Sicilian  corn-ship,  he  was  once  more  commanding  in  the  north, 
where  a  few  cities  yet  held  out  against  him.  Dreadful  stories 
were  told  concerning  the  siege  of  Placentia,  whose  inhabitants 
were  said  to  have  eaten  the  bodies  of  their  dead  ere  they 
yielded  to  the  Goth.  So  stern  a  spirit  of  resistance  was 
found  only  in  places  where  religious  zeal  and  national  senti- 
ment both  existed  in  their  utmost  vigour,  and  Totila  well  knew 
that,  of  these  two  forces  ever  threatening  to  make  his  conquests 
vain,  it  was  from  religion  that  he  had  most  to  fear.  In  vain 
was  the  history  of  Gothic  tolerance  known  throughout  Italy  ; 
it  created  no  corresponding  virtue  in  the  bosom  of  Catholi- 

€'  m ;  the  barbaric  origin  of  the  Goths  might  be  forgotten  or 
given,  their  heresy — never. 

Totila,  whose  qualities  of  heart  and  mind  would  have 
made  him,  could  he  but  have  ruled  in  peace,  a  worthy 
successor  of  the  great  Theodoric,  had  reflected  much  on  this 
question  of  the  hostile  creeds;  he  had  talked  of  it  with 
ministers  of  his  own  faith  and  with  those  of  the  orthodox 
church ;  and  it  was  on  this  account  that  he  had  sought  an 
interview  with  the  far-famed  monk  of  Casinum.  Under- 
standing the  futility  of  any  hope  that  the  Italians  might  be 
won  to  Arianism,  and  having  sufficient  largeness  of  intellect 
to  perceive  how  idle  was  a  debate  concerning  the  '  substance ' 
of  the  Father  and  of  the  Son,  Totila  must  at  times  have  felt 
willing  enough  to  renounce  the  heretical  name,  and  so  win 

Y 


338  VERANILDA 

favour  of  the  Italians,  the  greater  part  of  whom  would  assuredly 
have  preferred  his  rule  to  that  of  the  Emperor  Justinian.  But 
he  knew  the  religious  obstinacy  of  his  own  people ;  to  imagine 
their  following  him  in  a  conversion  to  Catholicism  was  but 
to  dream.  Pondering  thus,  he  naturally  regarded  with  indul- 
gence the  beautiful  and  gentle  Gothic  maiden  delivered  into 
his  power  by  a  scheming  Roman  ecclesiastic.  After  his  con- 
versations with  Veranilda,  he  had  a  pensive  air ;  and  certain 
persons  who  observed  him  remarked  on  it  to  each  other, 
whence  arose  the  rumour  that  Totila  purposed  taking  to  wife 
this  last  descendant  of  the  Amals.  Whatever  his  temptations, 
he  quickly  overcame  them.  If  ever  he  thought  of  marriage, 
policy  and  ambition  turned  his  mind  towards  the  royal 
Franks;  but  the  time  for  that  had  not  yet  come.  Mean- 
while, having  spoken  with  the  young  Roman  whom  Veranilda 
loved,  he  saw  in  Basil  a  useful  instrument,  and  resolved,  if  his 
loyalty  to  the  Goths  bore  every  test,  to  reward  him  with  Vera- 
nilda's  hand.  The  marriage  would  be  of  good  example,  and 
might,  if  the  Gothic  arms  remained  triumphant,  lead  to  other 
such. 

After  the  meeting  at  Hadrian's  villa  which  he  granted  to 
the  lovers,  Totila  summoned  Basil  to  his  presence.  Regard- 
ing him  with  a  good-natured  smile,  he  said  pleasantly : 

'  Your  face  has  a  less  doleful  cast  than  when  I  first  saw  it.' 

'That,'  answered  Basil,  'is  due  in  no  small  degree  to  the 
gracious  favour  of  my  king.' 

1  Continue  to  merit  my  esteem,  lord  Basil,  and  proof  of  my 
good-will  shall  not  be  wanting.  But  the  time  for  repose  and 
solace  is  not  yet.  To-morrow  you  will  go  with  Venantius  to 
Capua,  and  thence,  it  may  be,  into  Apulia.' 

Basil  bowed  in  silence.  He  had  hoped  that  the  siege  of 
Rome  was  now  to  be  undertaken,  and  that  this  would  ensure 
his  remaining  near  to  Veranilda.  But  the  loyalty  he  professed 
to  Totila  was  no  less  in  his  heart  than  on  his  lips,  and  after  a 
moment's  struggle  he  looked  up  with  calm  countenance. 

1  Have  you  aught  to  ask  of  me  ? '  added  Totila,  after  ob- 
serving his  face. 


ROME  BELEAGUERED  339 

'This  only,  O  king:  that  if  occasion  offer,  I  may  send 
written  news  of  myself  to  her  I  love.' 

'That  is  a  little  thing,'  was  the  answer,  'and  I  grant  it 
willingly.' 

Totila  paused  a  moment ;  then,  his  blue  eyes  shining  with 
a  vehement  thought,  added  gravely : 

'When  we  speak  together  within  the  walls  of  Rome,  ask 
more,  and  it  shall  not  be  refused.' 

So  Basil  rode  southward,  and  happily  was  far  away  when 
Tibur  opened  its  gates  to  the  Goth.  For  more  than  half  a 
year  he  and  Venantius  were  busy  in  maintaining  the  Gothic 
rule  throughout  Lucania  and  Apulia,  where  certain  Roman 
nobles  endeavoured  to  raise  an  army  of  the  peasantry  in  aid 
of  the  Greek  invasion  constantly  expected  upon  the  Adriatic 
shore.  When  at  length  he  was  recalled,  the  siege  of  Rome 
had  begun.  The  Gothic  ladies  now  resided  at  Tibur,  where 
a  garrison  was  established ;  there  Basil  and  Veranilda  again 
met,  and  again  only  for  an  hour.  But  their  hopes  were  high, 
and  scarce  could  they  repine  at  the  necessity  of  parting  so 
soon.  Already  in  a  letter,  Basil  had  spoken  of  the  king's 
promise ;  he  now  repeated  it,  whilst  Veranilda  flushed  with 
happiness. 

'  And  you  remain  before  Rome  ? '  she  asked. 

*  Alas,  no  !  I  am  sent  to  Ravenna,  to  spy  out  the  strength 
of  Belisarius.' 

But  Rome  was  besieged,  and  so  hateful  had  Bessas  made 
himself  to  the  Roman  people  that  it  could  not  be  long  ere 
some  plot  among  them  delivered  the  city. 

'Then,'  cried  Basil  exultantly,  'I  shall  ask  my  reward.' 


CHAPTER  XXX 


ON  a  winter's  day,  at  the  hour  of  sundown,  Heliodora  sat  in 
her  great  house  on  the  Quirinal,  musing  sullenly.  Beside 
her  a  brazier  of  charcoal  glowed  in  the  dusk,  casting  a  warm 
glimmer  upon  the  sculptured  forms  which  were  her  only 
companions;  she  was  wrapped  in  a  scarlet  cloak,  with  a 
hood  which  shadowed  her  face.  All  day  the  sun  had  shone 
brilliantly,  but  it  glistened  afar  on  snowy  summits,  and 
scarce  softened  the  mountain  wind  which  blew  through  the 
streets  of  Rome. 

To  divert  a  hungry  populace,  now  six  months  besieged, 
Bessas  was  offering  entertainments  such  as  suited  the 
Saturnalian  season.  To-day  he  had  invited  Rome  to  the 
Circus  Maximus,  where,  because  no  spectacle  could  be 
provided  imposing  enough  to  fill  the  whole  vast  space, 
half  a  dozen  shows  were  presented  simultaneously ;  the 
spectators  grouped  here  and  there,  in  number  not  a  fiftieth 
part  of  that  assembly  which  thundered  at  the  chariots  in 
olden  time.  Here  they  sat  along  the  crumbling,  grass-grown 
,  and,  as  their  nature  was,  gladly  forgot  their 
country's  ruin,  their  own  sufferings,  and  the  doom  which 
menaced  them.  Equestrians,  contortionists,  mimes,  singers, 
were  readily  found  in  the  city,  where  a  brave  or  an  honest 
man  had  become  rare  indeed.  What  a  performance  lacked  in 
art,  he  supplied  by  shamelessness ;  and  nowhere  was  laughter 
so  hearty,  or  the  crowd  so  dense,  as  in  that  part  of  the 
circus  where  comic  singers  and  dancers  vied  with  the 
grossest  traditions  of  the  pagan  theatre. 

340 


VERANILDA  341 

Heliodora  could  not  miss  such  an  opportunity  of  enjoy- 
ment and  of  display.  She  sat  amid  her  like,  the  feline  ladies 
and  the  young  nobles,  half  brute,  half  fop,  who  though 
already  most  of  them  fasted  without  the  merit  of  piety,  still 
prided  themselves  on  being  the  flower  of  Roman  fashion. 
During  one  of  the  pauses  of  the  festival,  when  places  were 
changed,  and  limbs  stretched,  some  one  whispered  to  her 
that  she  was  invited  to  step  towards  that  place  of  honour 
where  sat  the  Emperor's  representative.  An  invitation  of 
Bessas  could  not  lightly  be  declined,  nor  had  Heliodora  any 
reluctance  to  obey  such  a  summons.  More  than  a  year  had 
gone  by  since  her  vain  attempt,  on  Marcian's  suggestion, 
to  enslave  the  avaricious  Thracian,  and,  since  then,  the 
hapless  Muscula  had  had  more  than  one  successor.  Roman 
gossip,  always  busy  with  the  fair  Greek,  told  many  a  strange 
story  to  account  for  her  rigour  towards  the  master  of  Rome, 
who  was  well  known  to  have  made  advances  to  her.  So 
when  to-day  they  were  seen  sitting  side  by  side,  conversing 
vivaciously,  curiosity  went  on  tiptoe.  The  entertainment 
over,  Heliodora  was  carried  home  in  her  litter,  no  friend 
accompanying  her.  Few  nowadays  were  the  persons  in 
Rome  who  bade  guests  to  their  table ;  even  the  richest  had 
no  great  superfluity  of  viands.  After  sunset,  the  city 
became  a  dark  and  silent  desert,  save  when  watch-fires 
glared  and  soldiers  guarded  the  walls. 

As  was  the  case  with  all  Romans  who  not  long  ago  had 
commanded  a  multitude  of  slaves  and  freedmen,  Heliodora's 
household  was  much  reduced.  Even  before  the  siege  began, 
many  of  the  serving  class  stole  away  to  the  Goths,  who 
always  received  them  with  a  welcome ;  and  since  the  closing 
of  the  gates  this  desertion  had  been  of  daily  occurrence,  the 
fugitives  having  little  difficulty  in  making  their  escape  from 
so  vast  a  city  so  sparsely  populated.  No  longer  did  the 
child  from  far-off  Anglia  ride  about  on  his  mistress's  errands; 
a  female  slave,  punished  for  boxing  his  ears,  had  stifled  him 
as  he  slept,  and  fled  that  night  with  five  or  six  others  who 
were  tired  of  the  lady's  caprices  and  feared  her  cruelty.  Her 


342  VERANILDA 

aviary  was  empty.  Having  wearied  of  that  whim,  she  had  let 
the  birds  loose ;  a  generosity  she  regretted  now  that  tooth- 
some morsels  were  rare.  In  her  strong  box  there  remained 
little  money,  and  the  estate  she  owned  in  a  distant  part  of 
Italy  might  as  well  have  been  sunk  in  the  sea  for  all  the 
profit  it  could  yield  her.  True,  she  had  objects  of  value, 
such  as  were  daily  accepted  by  Bessas  in  exchange  for  corn 
and  pork  j  but,  if  it  came  to  that  extremity,  could  not  better 
use  be  made  of  the  tough-skinned  commander  ?  Heliodora 
had  no  mind  to  support  herself  on  bread  and  pork  whilst 
food  more  appetising  might  still  be  got. 

It  was  all  but  dark.  She  rang  a  hand-bell  and  was 
answered  by  a  maidservant. 

'  Has  Sagaris  returned  yet  ? '  she  asked  impatiently. 

'  Lady,  not  yet' 

Heliodora  kept  silence  for  a  moment,  then  bade  the  girl 
bring  her  a  lamp.  A  very  small  lamp  was  set  upon  the  table, 
and  as  she  glanced  at  its  poor  flame,  Heliodora  remembered 
that  the  store  of  oil  was  nearly  at  an  end. 

Again  she  had  sat  alone  for  nearly  half  an  hour,  scarcely 
stirring,  so  intent  was  she  on  the  subject  of  her  thoughts, 
when  a  light  footfall  sounded  without,  and  the  curtain 
at  the  door  was  raised.  She  turned  and  saw  a  dark  counte- 
nance, which  smiled  upon  her  coldly. 

'  Where  have  you  been  ? '  broke  angrily  from  her  lips. 

'Hither  and  thither,'  was  the  softly  insolent  reply,  as 
Sagaris  let  the  curtain  fall  behind  him  and  stepped  forward 
to  the  brazier,  over  which  he  held  out  his  hands  to  warm  them. 

By  his  apparel,  he  might  have  been  mistaken  for  a  noble. 

Nominally  he  had  for  a  year  held  the  office  of  steward  to 
Heliodora.  That  his  functions  were  not,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
all  comprised  under  that  name  was  well  known  to  all  in  the 
house,  and  to  some  beyond  its  walls. 

'Were  you  at  the  Circus?'  she  next  inquired,  using  the 
large  hood  to  avoid  his  gaze  without  seeming  to  do  so. 

'  I  was  there,  gracious  lady.  Not,  of  course,  in  such  an 
exalted  place  as  that  in  which  I  saw  you? 


VERANILDA  343 

'  I  did  not  choose  that  place,'  said  Heliodora,  her  voice 
almost  conciliatory.  '  Being  sent  for,  I  could  not  refuse  to  go.' 

Sagaris  set  a  stool  near  to  his  mistress,  seated  himself,  and 
looked  up  into  her  face.  She,  for  an  instant,  bore  it  im- 
patiently, but  of  a  sudden  her  countenance  changed,  and  she 
met  the  gaze  with  a  half-mocking  smile. 

'  Is  this  one  of  your  jealous  days  ? '  she  asked,  with  what 
was  meant  for  playfulness,  though  the  shining  of  her  eyes 
and  teeth  in  the  lamplight  gave  the  words  rather  an  effect  of 
menace. 

'  Perhaps  it  is,'  answered  the  Syrian.  '  What  did  Bessas 
say  to  you  ? ' 

'Many  things.  He  ended  by  asking  me  to  sup  at  the 
palace.  You  will  own  that  the  invitation  was  tempting.' 

Sagaris  glared  fiercely  at  her,  and  drew  upon  himself  a  look 
no  less  fierce. 

'  Fool ! '  she  exclaimed,  once  more  speaking  in  a  natural 
voice.  'How  shall  we  live  a  month  hence?  Have  you  a 
mind  to  steal  away  to  the  Goths  ?  If  you  do  so,  you  can't 
expect  me  to  starve  here  alone.  Thick-willed  slave !  Can 
you  see  no  further  than  the  invitation  to  sup  with  that 
thievish  brute? — which  I  should  have  accepted,  had  I  not 
foreseen  the  necessity  of  explaining  to  your  dulness  all  that 
might  follow  upon  it.' 

Esteeming  himself  the  shrewdest  of  mankind,  Sagaris 
deeply  resented  these  insults,  not  for  the  first  time  thrown 
at  him  by  the  woman  whom  he  regarded  with  an  Oriental 
passion  and  contempt. 

'  Of  course  I  know  what  you  mean,'  he  replied  disdainfully. 
'  I  know,  too,  that  you  will  be  no  match  for  the  Thracian 
robber.' 

Heliodora  caught  his  arm. 

1  What  if  I  can  make  him  believe  that  Belisarius  has  the 
Emperor's  command  to  send  him  in  chains  to  Constanti- 
nople !  Would  he  not  rather  come  to  terms  with  Totila,  who, 
as  I  know  well,  long  ago  offered  to  let  him  carry  off  half 
his  plunder?' 


344  VERANILDA 

1  You  know  that  ?    How  ? ' 

'Clod-pate!  Have  you  forgotten  your  master  whom  Basil 
slew?  Did  I  not  worm  out  of  him,  love-sick  simpleton 
that  he  was,  all  the  secrets  of  his  traffic  with  Greeks  and 
Goths?' 

Again  they  glanced  at  each  other  like  wild  creatures  before 
the  leap. 

'  Choose,'  said  Heliodora.  '  Leave  me  free  to  make  your 
fortune,  for  Totila  is  generous  to  those  who  serve  him  well ; 
or  stay  here  and  spy  upon  me  till  your  belly  pinches,  and 
the  great  opportunity  of  your  life  is  lost.' 

There  was  a  silence.  The  Syrian's  features  showed  how 
his  mind  was  rocking  this  way  and  that. 

'You  have  not  cunning  for  this,'  he  snarled.  'The 
Thracian  will  use  you  and  laugh  at  you.  And  when  you 
think  to  come  back  to  me  .  .  .' 

He  touched  the  dagger  at  his  waist. 

In  that  moment  there  came  confused  sounds  from  without 
the  room.  Suddenly  the  curtain  was  pulled  aside,  and  there 
appeared  the  face  of  a  frightened  woman,  who  exclaimed: 
'Soldiers,  lady,  soldiers  are  in  the  house!' 

Heliodora  started  up.  Sagaris,  whose  hand  was  still  on 
the  dagger's  hilt,  grasped  her  by  the  mantle,  his  look  and 
attitude  so  like  that  of  a  man  about  to  strike  that  she  sprang 
away  from  him  with  a  loud  cry.  Again  the  curtain  was 
raised,  and  there  entered  hurriedly  several  armed  men.  Their 
leader  looked  with  a  meaning  grin  at  the  lady  and  her  com- 
panion, who  now  stood  apart  from  each  other. 

'Pardon  our  hasty  entrance,  fair  Heliodora,'  he  said  in 
Greek.  'The  commander  has  need  of  you — on  pressing 
business.' 

'  The  commander  must  wait  my  leisure,'  she  replied  with 
a  note  of  indignation  over-emphasised. 

'  Nay,  that  he  cannot,'  returned  the  officer,  leering  at  Sagaris. 
'  He  is  even  now  at  supper,  and  will  take  it  ill  if  you  be  not 
there  when  he  rises  from  table.  A  litter  waits.' 

Not  without  much  show  of  wrath  did  Heliodora  yield.    As 


VERANILDA  345 

she  left  the  room,  her  eyes  turned  to  Sagaris,  who  had  shrunk 
into  a  corner,  coward  fear  and  furious  passion  distorting 
his  face.  The  lady  having  been  borne  away,  a  few  soldiers 
remained  in  the  house,  where  they  passed  the  night.  On  the 
morrow  Bessas  himself  paid  a  visit  to  that  famous  museum 
of  sculpture,  and  after  an  inspection,  which  left  no  possible 
hiding-place  unsearched,  sent  away  to  the  Palatine  everything 
that  seemed  to  him  worth  laying  hands  upon. 

Meanwhile  the  domestics  had  all  been  held  under  guard. 
Sagaris,  who  heard  his  relations  with  Heliodora  jested  over 
by  the  slaves  and  soldiers,  passed  a  night  of  terror,  and  when 
he  knew  of  the  commander's  arrival,  scarce  had  strength  to 
stand.  To  his  surprise,  nothing  ill  befell  him.  During  the 
pillage  of  the  house  he  was  disregarded,  and  when  Bessas 
had  gone  he  only  had  to  bear  the  scoffs  of  his  fellow-slaves. 
These  unfortunates  lived  together  as  long  as  the  scant  pro- 
visions lasted,  then  scattered  in  search  of  sustenance.  The 
great  house  on  the  Quirinal  stood  silent,  left  to  its  denizens 
of  marble  and  of  bronze. 

Sagaris,  who  suspected  himself  to  have  been  tricked  by 
Heliodora  in  the  matter  of  her  removal  to  the  Palatine,  and 
had  not  the  least  faith  in  her  power  to  beguile  Bessas,  swore 
by  all  the  saints  that  the  day  of  his  revenge  should  come ; 
but  for  the  present  he  had  to  think  of  how  to  keep  himself 
alive.  Money  he  had  none ;  it  was  idle  to  hope  of  attaching 
himself  to  another  household,  and  unless  he  escaped  to  the 
Goths,  there  was  no  resource  but  to  beg  from  one  or  other 
of  those  few  persons  who,  out  of  compassion  and  for  their 
souls'  sake,  gave  alms  to  the  indigent.  Wandering  in  a 
venomous  humour,  he  chanced  to  approach  the  Via  Lata, 
and  out  of  curiosity  turned  to  the  house  of  Marcian.  Not 
knowing  whether  it  was  still  inhabited,  he  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  was  surprised  to  hear  a  dog's  bark,  for  nearly  all 
the  dogs  in  Rome  had  already  been  killed  and  eaten.  The 
wicket  opened,  and  a  voice  spoke  which  he  well  remembered. 

'  You  alive  still,  old  Stephanus  ?  Who  feeds  you  ?  Open 
and  teach  me  the  art  of  living  on  nothing.' 

Z 


346  VERANILDA 

He  who  opened  looked  indeed  the  image  of  Famine — a 
fleshless,  tottering  creature,  with  scarce  strength  left  to  turn 
the  key  in  the  door.  His  only  companions  in  the  house  were 
his  daughter  and  the  dog.  Till  not  long  ago  there  had  been 
also  the  daughter's  child,  whom  she  had  borne  to  Marcian, 
but  this  boy  was  dead. 

'  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,'  said  Stephanus  mysteriously,  draw- 
ing his  visitor  into  the  atrium,  and  speaking  as  if  the  house 
were  full  of  people  who  might  overhear  him.  '  Your  coming 
to-day  is  a  strange  thing.  Have  you,  perchance,  had  a 
dream  ? ' 

'  What  dream  should  I  have  had  ? '  answered  Sagaris,  his 
superstition  at  once  stirring. 

The  old  man  related  that  last  night,  for  the  third  time,  he 
had  dreamt  that  a  treasure  lay  buried  in  this  house.  Where 
he  could  not  say,  but  in  his  dream  he  seemed  to  descend 
stairs,  and  to  reach  a  door  which,  when  he  opened  it,  showed 
him  a  pile  of  gold,  shining  in  so  brilliant  a  light  that  he  fell 
back  blinded,  whereupon  the  door  closed  in  his  face.  To 
this  the  Syrian  listened  very  curiously.  Cellars  there  were 
below  the  house,  as  he  well  knew,  and  hidden  treasure  was 
no  uncommon  thing  in  Rome.  Having  bidden  Stephanus 
light  a  torch,  he  went  exploring,  but  though  they  searched 
long,  they  could  find  no  trace  of  a  door  long  unopened,  or 
of  a  walled-up  entrance. 

'You  should  have  more  wit  in  your  dreaming,  old  scare- 
crow,' said  Sagaris.  '  If  I  had  had  a  dream  such  as  that  a 
second  time,  not  to  speak  of  a  third,  do  you  think  I  should 
not  have  learnt  the  way.  But  you  were  always  a  clod-pate.' 

Thus  did  he  revenge  himself  for  the  contumely  he  had 
suffered  from  Heliodora.  As  he  spoke  they  were  joined  by 
the  old  man's  daughter,  who,  after  begging  at  many  houses, 
returned  with  a  pocketful  of  lentils.  The  girl  had  been 
pretty,  but  was  now  emaciated  and  fever-burnt ;  she  looked 
with  ill-will  at  Sagaris,  whom  she  believed,  as  did  others  of 
his  acquaintance,  to  have  murdered  Marcian,  and  to  have 
invented  the  story  of  his  death  at  the  hands  of  Basil.  Well 


VERANILDA  347 

understanding  this,  Sagaris  amused  himself  with  jesting  on 
the  loss  of  her  beauty ;  why  did  she  not  go  to  the  Palatine, 
where  handsome  women  were  always  welcome?  Having 
driven  her  away  with  his  brutality,  he  advised  Stephanus  to 
keep  silent  about  the  treasure,  and  promised  to  come  again 
ere  long. 

He  now  turned  his  steps  to  the  other  side  of  Tiber,  and, 
after  passing  through  poor  streets,  where  some  show  of  in- 
dustries was  still  kept  up  by  a  few  craftsmen,  though  for 
the  most  part  folk  sat  or  lay  about  in  sullen  idleness,  came 
to  those  grin  ding-mills  on  the  slope  of  the  Janiculum  which 
were  driven  by  Trajan's  aqueduct.  Day  and  night  the  wheels 
made  their  clapping  noise,  seeming  to  clamour  for  the  corn 
which  did  not  come.  At  the  door  of  one  of  the  mills,  a 
spot  warmed  by  the  noonday  sun,  sat  a  middle-aged  man, 
wretchedly  garbed,  who  with  a  burnt  stick  was  drawing  what 
seemed  to  be  diagrams  on  the  stone  beside  him.  At  the 
sound  of  a  footstep,  rare  in  that  place,  he  hastily  smeared 
out  his  designs,  and  looking  up  showed  a  visage  which  bore 
a  racial  resemblance  to  that  of  Sagaris.  Recognising  the 
visitor,  he  smiled,  pointed  to  the  ground  in  invitation,  and 
when  Sagaris  had  placed  himself  near  by,  began  talking  in 
the  tongue  of  their  own  Eastern  land.  This  man,  who  called 
himself  Apollonius,  had  for  some  years  enjoyed  reputation 
in  Rome  as  an  astrologer,  thereby  gaining  much  money ;  and 
even  in  these  dark  days  he  found  people  who  were  willing 
to  pay  him,  either  in  coin  or  food,  for  his  counsel  and 
prophecies.  Fearful  of  drawing  attention  upon  himself, 
as  one  who  had  wealth  in  store,  he  had  come  to  live  like 
a  beggar  in  this  out-of-the-way  place,  where  his  money  was 
securely  buried,  and  with  it  a  provision  of  corn,  peas,  and 
lentils  which  would  keep  him  alive  for  a  long  time.  Apol- 
lonius was  the  only  man  living  whom  Sagaris,  out  of  reverence 
and  awe,  would  have  hesitated  to  rob,  and  the  only  man  to 
whom  he  did  not  lie.  For  beside  being  learned  in  the 
stars,  an  interpreter  of  dreams,  a  prophet  of  human  fate, 
Apollonius  spoke  to  those  he  could  trust  of  a  religion,  of 


348  VERANILDA 

sacred  mysteries,  much  older,  he  said,  and  vastly  more 
efficacious  for  the  soul's  weal  than  the  faith  in  Christ.  To 
this  religion  Sagaris  also  inclined,  for  it  was  associated  with 
memories  of  his  childhood  in  the  East ;  if  he  saw  the  rising 
of  the  sun,  and  was  unobserved,  he  bowed  himself  before 
it,  with  various  other  observances  of  which  he  had  forgotten 
the  meaning. 

His  purpose  in  coming  hither  was  to  speak  of  Stephanus's 
dream.  The  astrologer  listened  very  attentively,  and,  after 
long  brooding,  consented  to  use  his  art  for  the  investigation 
of  the  matter. 


Printed  by  T.  and  A.  CONSTABLE,  Printers  to  His  Majesty, 
at  the  Edinburgh  University  Press 


DATE  DUE 


PRINTED  IN  U.S.A. 


001  421  089 


\ 


